The More the Terrier (3 page)

She knelt on the ground beside Herman and gave him a hug.

“It’s about time!” said a voice from behind me. I turned to see a slender woman in a business-like suit, her hair a sleek, shoulder-length cap of gold, smiling down at Mamie.

Mamie rose, her complexion even paler than before. Her eyes were huge and furious. “This is all your fault, you miserable excuse for a—”

The woman laughed. “
I’m
a miserable excuse? What about
you
, and the way you treated those poor animals?” Her smile was vicious and looked out of place on a face that could have graced the cover of a fashion magazine—beautiful and perfectly made up, from eyes framed by long, dark lashes, to her becoming shade of lip gloss.

“But if it hadn’t been for your threats,” Mamie cried, “I’d never have had to call for help. I would have fixed things myself.”

So this was the person who’d been threatening Mamie. With what? Exposure?

“All you had to do was listen to me.” Her tone was sweet despite the viciousness of her expression. “You know I run one of the most reputable shelters around. I’d have helped your animals if you’d linked your pathetic Beach Pet Rescue to my network of shelters. But, no, you had to be stubborn, and now it’ll cost you, big time.”

She was involved with shelters, had known about this situation, and hadn’t dealt with it?

Just threatening Mamie, no matter what she’d said, hadn’t helped the poor animals.

I held my temper in check, just barely, as I approached her. “Hi, I’m Lauren Vancouver. I run HotRescues, and I can’t believe you—”

The woman approached me with one perfectly manicured hand extended. I noticed the pin she wore on her lapel: a circle of paw prints around the words “Pet Shelters Together.” It was crusted with small, gleaming stones that looked like real diamonds.

“Of course I know who you are. Mamie has spoken highly of you. I’m Bethany Urber, and I save animals’ lives, too. Aren’t you glad I got Mamie to get in touch with you?”

Chapter 3

I had no answer to that. Not without yelling my own questions at her, like “Why didn’t you do something to fix this as soon as you knew about it?” As much as I hated to pretend to be cordial, I shook her hand so briefly that it might as well have been the swipe of an angry cat.

“This way, Bethany,” I heard from behind us. Bethany grabbed my hand again as she turned and posed us—for a couple of the news photographers who’d invaded the yard.

I yanked myself away and pretended that my attention had been grabbed by another wave of Animal Services folks exiting the house with filled crates—not much of a stretch. They, fortunately, also shooed the media vultures back outside.

I had in fact heard of Bethany Urber and her Pet Shelters Together organization. I belong to a different, unofficial network, one where pet rescue administrators trade data informally, and I visit its Web site frequently. It’s called, not especially creatively, Southern California Rescuers. The shelter directors I’d already contacted also monitored the site.

Bethany and PST had been mentioned and dissected in its discussion group recently. Apparently some fellow rescuers considered Bethany’s network a superb idea, where administrators shared not only ideas and information, but also banded together for fund-raisers and more.

Others considered it intrusive, with its requirement of ceding control . . . and I gathered that the majority of this group had met Bethany. Even so, no one said anything especially terrible about it.

Judging by this first experience with Bethany, though, I wondered if the organization was all about her, and not so much about saving animals. Otherwise, why would she have hesitated to call in official help right away? Had she been trying to create leverage to get Mamie to join? But why?

“I’m so glad that the Animal Cruelty Task Force and Animal Services are here,” Bethany said from behind me, loud enough that a couple of those in uniform carrying the crates looked in our direction and smiled.

I chose not to respond. Instead, I turned toward Mamie, now standing beside me, also not looking at Bethany. She watched with tears once more streaming down her lined cheeks as Herman, too, was loaded into one of the official vans, among a bunch of other similar-looking terriers.

“Oh, Herman, I’m so sorry,” she cried. She turned to me. “Don’t you think I could get them to leave just one dog right now?” Her voice was so soft that I barely heard it over the shouts of the rescuers and the people who watched the show.

Not to mention barks from some of the frightened dogs, including Herman. Even cat cries and hisses. I wished I could explain to them what was going on.

Or not. I couldn’t make promises to them, or even to Mamie. But I could to myself. I wouldn’t stop until as many as possible—hopefully all of the animals—were healthy and well fed and placed in new, loving homes.

“I don’t know,” I began gently, only to be interrupted by Bethany.

“Why? So you could only mistreat just that poor animal instead of a hundred?” She spoke loudly enough that I glanced around but saw no reporters filming her.

“It’s not like that.” Mamie sounded as tormented as the pets she had crammed into such terrible quarters. “I loved them all. If I didn’t take them in, who would?”

“Now, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Bethany taunted. “If you’d done as we’d discussed, worked with me and with Pet Shelters Together, we might have been able to fix things around here, and done it much faster.”

“There were other ways of getting it done faster,” I muttered, glowering at the woman. “Like as soon as you learned about the situation.”

“Oh, but that wouldn’t have taught Mamie anything. Anyway, I need to go talk to someone. See you later, Mamie, dear.” Instead of walking off, though, Bethany took another step toward me. “We’ll talk soon, okay, Lauren?”

I didn’t have time to answer before she hurried out the gate. She stopped at a parked van—one from a TV station, not Animal Services.

“She did this,” Mamie cried, gesturing toward the chaotic scene in front of us. “She ruined everything.”

Maybe, to some extent, Bethany was right. Her timing and rationale might have stunk as badly as the interior of Mamie’s house, but her discussions with Mamie had in fact spurred my old mentor to call me, and thus, eventually, saved some animals’ lives. I didn’t want to throw that into the face of the distraught woman in front of me, though.

Which felt weird, upside down somehow. I was used to confronting people who abused animals, leveling threats and accusations of my own. I couldn’t fault what was happening here, but I also wasn’t going to rub Mamie’s nose in it. Not now, at least. I don’t like to see any creature suffering, not even someone who’d made such terrible mistakes, and that was definitely the case with Mamie.

“Oh!” Mamie cried again as a cart stacked with crates filled with cats was being maneuvered out to the street, to another Animal Services van. “My babies!”

I wanted to shake some sense into her but realized it would be futile. Plus, I didn’t know how delicate her mental state really was. Maybe if I got her talking . . .

I turned and gestured for Mamie to follow me back in the direction of the house, a little farther from the chaos. She complied, though she looked reluctant.

“Do you want to tell me more about what happened?” I asked when we stopped. “I gathered that Bethany twisted your arm in an attempt to get you to join Pet Shelters Together, right?” Mamie nodded. “That’s how she threatened you?” She nodded again. “What did she say?”

Mamie’s smile was full of irony. “That she’d call in Animal Services if I didn’t join and they’d arrest me.”

Which still could happen. She might be hauled in for animal cruelty or some other charges, but I wasn’t sure. I’d have to check with Matt about how this kind of situation was usually handled.

“So why didn’t you just join?” I asked Mamie.

She shook her head, bouncing her red curls. “I considered it. It sounded wonderful at first, but I needed to know more. I began to look into Pet Shelters Together, and Bethany. She had an amazing business background—did you know?” I shook my head. “Well, she did. I thought she knew what she was doing, running organizations and all, and that the animals would benefit. But when I started asking people who’d already joined some questions about what was good and bad about Pet Shelters Together, I wasn’t so sure. Besides . . . I wasn’t really ready to give up on my own shelter, you see?”

I did. Getting that kind of help would have meant ending her hoarding sooner. Bethany’s threats or not, Mamie hadn’t been ready to give up on her lifestyle.

“Have you considered joining Pet Shelters Together, Lauren? I mean, having HotRescues join it?”

I blinked at the unanticipated question. The answer was, of course, no. But my situation was unusual—ideal circumstances for a pet rescue administrator. I didn’t need to band together or coordinate with anyone to get the funds HotRescues needed, thanks to its rich benefactor, Dante DeFrancisco.

Sure, we held fund-raisers now and then. But they were intended to publicize animal rescue in general, and HotRescues in particular—and not because we were hurting for money.

“No,” I told her. “I haven’t.”

“Good. You’d only regret even considering it, like I do now. I told Bethany very politely that I appreciated her invitation but I’d decided to decline. That’s when she started threatening to expose me. She said she’d save these animals anyway, and I’d be the one to suffer. She got so loud and mean that I started trying to avoid her, but she kept calling and coming here and making more threats—” And not saving the animals, damn her. “—and that’s why . . .”

“That’s why you decided to call me?”

She nodded.

I’d thought Mamie looked aging and frail before, but now, as she stared at me solemnly, then turned back to watch the loading process, I had the sense she was thinking about how her life had just ended, even though she was still alive.

Or maybe she was even considering how to terminate that part, too.

I felt so torn inside that I almost wished I could sever my own painful, ambivalent feelings from my heart. No matter how ill-treated the animals had been, abusing them hadn’t been her intention.

Only the result.

I noticed another Animal Services car double-park along the street. It looked familiar, but many of the cars looked alike. The person who got out definitely looked familiar, though. It was Captain Matt Kingston.

He didn’t seem to see me at first, or maybe he wasn’t looking for me. He talked initially to a couple of the Animal Services folks while patting some dogs on the head, then conversed with a few uniformed cops who were apparently part of the Animal Cruelty Task Force. One of those cops turned and pointed toward me. The group headed in our direction.

What was going on?

“Hi, Lauren,” Matt said when he reached where I stood with Mamie, at the side of the yard. “Is this Ms. Spelling?” He nodded toward Mamie.

He was wearing his official Animal Services uniform. He was also wearing his official Animal Services attitude. His expression, as he watched me for an answer, was remote, not at all the fond way he’d come to look at me when we visited each other at our respective rescue facilities or even got together for dinner or drinks or more.

I kept my own demeanor strictly professional, too. “Yes. Captain Matt Kingston, I’d like you to meet a long-time—” Well, former. “—friend of mine, Mamie Spelling. Mamie, this is Matt Kingston of Los Angeles Animal Services.”

“And this is Officer Truax of the Los Angeles Police Department,” Matt said. “He’s a member of the Animal Cruelty Task Force.”

A burly, uniformed man stepped from behind Matt. He didn’t seem to pay much attention to the introduction. Instead, he neared Mamie—like a giant hawk approaching a mouse.

“Will you come with me, ma’am?” Though he phrased it as a question and his tone was soft, he clearly expected Mamie to comply.

I aimed a questioning glance of my own at Matt. He nodded. Softly, he said, “I’d asked that no one start talking to the owner of this property until I arrived, and everyone involved was kind enough to agree.”

In other words, he’d done it for me. He didn’t understand exactly what my relationship was, or wasn’t, with Mamie, but even though he had encouraged the city’s forces to come and rescue the abused animals, he’d been sweet enough to make sure he’d talked to me before anyone started dealing with her.

“That’s very nice.” My tone was a bit warmer than before. But I couldn’t let go of my professionalism—or my concern about Mamie. “Matt, could I talk to you?”

“Sure.” He looked at the others. “Officer Truax, why don’t you hold off for a few minutes? Just keep Ms. Spelling company for now.”

Fortunately, the guy didn’t seem surprised by the request. Or maybe it was a command, since Matt was a captain in Animal Services—although he wasn’t a cop.

“Let’s go over here,” Matt said, and we went around the corner of the house. I noticed that the yard that had been so full of animals before was empty, except for the myriad of filthy enclosures.

“What’s going to happen to Mamie now?” I asked as soon as I thought we were beyond her hearing.

“I understand your concern for your friend, Lauren.” Matt reached out to clasp my hands in his. I hung on, but needed answers before I could feel reassured. “We treat hoarders different from most abusers, though. We consider hoarding largely a mental disease. The condition of Mamie’s place wasn’t the worst I’ve seen, but—What do you think? How does her mental state seem to you?”

“Awful!” I took a deep breath and stared into his brown eyes. They appeared full of sympathy. “I came here because I was afraid, from what she’d said on the phone, that she was suicidal. Now, I’m not sure . . . but I can’t say that she isn’t, either. She seems to be changing moment by moment, from flakiness to sadness to anger.”

“That’s helpful for us to know. Here’s what’s likely to happen.” He described briefly how Mamie would be taken in for a psychological evaluation. “The hold is likely to be for a maximum of seventy-two hours, and then she’ll probably be released. Most hoarders, at a minimum, suffer from obsessive-compulsive disorder, but there may be even more to Mamie’s situation. Let’s get that process started, and I’ll explain to you later how the way she acts will affect how we deal with the animals. We’ll keep them safe in any event, of course, and have them checked by a vet.”

“Will Mamie be prosecuted for animal cruelty or something?” I asked.

“Yes, but she’ll most likely wind up on probation. Incarcerating hoarders, with their mental conditions, is usually counterproductive—but we can monitor how well they comply with the terms of their probation.”

“Most likely?”

“You know I can’t give absolute assurances.”

“I get it. And I will want to learn more later. But for now . . .” I squeezed Matt’s hands, then let them go.

I returned to where we had left Mamie and the officer.

“I think things will be all right,” I told her. She smiled and took a few steps away from the police officer. “The animals will be well cared for. But there are possible consequences for you. Mamie, do you happen to know any lawyers?”