The More the Terrier (8 page)

To make our residents, especially dogs, as adoptable as possible, it was important to have a part-time trainer on staff to help modify their behaviors. Our last trainer had gone a different direction with his life, and I’d been looking for a replacement.

“No, I haven’t hired anyone yet.”

“I’ve got a recommendation.” He proceeded to give me information about a trainer whom he’d come in contact with in some recent meetings, a guy named Gavin Mamo. “He’s Hawaiian by background, I think. I saw him in action with a couple of pit bulls that had been brought in from a dog fighting rescue. He calmed them pretty quickly.”

“I’ll check him out,” I said. “Thanks.”

Our pizza was served, and we talked about a rescue Matt had attended that the Small Animal Rescue Team, known as SmART—one of the Animal Services teams reporting to him—had undertaken that day. “Some kittens were born in a tiny area between buildings in a schoolyard. It wasn’t easy, but our team rescued them all.”

I smiled. “Please congratulate them for me. They’re an amazing crew.” Ever since I’d seen them save those baby beagles from the storm drain at the puppy mill site, I’d watched SmART’s accomplishments on their Facebook page and YouTube. They did everything from climbing trees to rappelling down mountainsides.

When we were done eating, Matt took the bill from the server. “My turn,” he said.

“This time,” I agreed.

We went back to the West L.A. Care Center, and he parked his official Animal Services car beside my Venza. Sadly, he had to go back to his office in the Valley and complete some paperwork, so spending time together that night wasn’t going to happen.

“Like I said, I’ll keep you informed about the status of the animals rescued from the hoarding situation,” he told me. “It would help if your friend Mamie gave up any supposed legal rights to them, but that never happens. And . . . well, will you do something for me?”

“What’s that?”

“Stay away from Mamie and all that’s going on with her.”

With my hand on the car door handle, I glared. “Why?”

“Because I think there’s a lot of potential for you to be hurt, Lauren. The lady may be your friend, but she’s also, possibly, a nutcase. She may really have killed Bethany Urber.”

But what if she didn’t? my mind niggled.

There must have been something resistant in my look, since Matt sighed and reached for me. He held me tight, which was okay here. We were alone in the parking lot, since visiting hours for the shelter were over. I reveled in the feel of him against me, despite the controversy in our discussion.

“Okay, let me amend what I said.” Matt spoke into my hair. “You know I worry about you, Lauren.” When I moved away, ready to state, as I often did, that I wasn’t ready for anything serious between us, he said, “I know. I’ll back off. But if you decide to get more involved in the murder investigation, will you at least let me know?”

“Okay.” I nodded. That sounded fair.

Matt’s concern filled me with warmth. I really had started caring for him—much more than I was comfortable with. I wasn’t sure where things might go from here but appreciated that he seemed to understand and never pushed me.

We gave each other some pretty sexy goodnight kisses, and I got in my car to head back to HotRescues to pick up Zoey.

Chapter 9

The time was nearly nine o’clock. I felt exhausted, ready to go home. Almost. I could never leave HotRescues without a final walk-through of the shelter.

Zoey greeted me inside the welcome area, leaping around as if I’d been gone for weeks, not just a couple of hours. Smart and obedient pup that she is, she immediately settled down when I said “Sit.” Her butt wriggled on the tile floor, though, and her beautiful amber eyes never left mine. She wanted my approval, which she got. A hug, too.

I went to put my purse in my office. When Zoey and I came back down the hall, we were greeted by Brooke Pernall and Cheyenne.

“Hey, Lauren,” Brooke said as I gave Cheyenne a pat in greeting. Unlike how I felt, Brooke appeared wide awake and alert, and I marveled again at how much she had improved since she had first come here ill and ready to relinquish Cheyenne for the pup’s own good. “You’re just getting here? Are you taking on a security job? This is like the hours my guys and I keep.”

“Just picking up Zoey and taking my last walk-through of the day. Care to come along and do your security thing?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Inevitably, Brooke asked me about the Mamie situation. Word had gotten out. I told her what I knew, which wasn’t a lot.

“They were still questioning her? Do you think she did it?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” But the same thoughts kept reverberating in my mind—along with the germ of a crazy idea.

By then, we were in the outdoor shelter area. Our chain-link kennels on both sides of the walkway were nearly all full, particularly here, near the front. I stopped at the first on the left to pet Hannibal, a Great Dane mix, and Babydoll, a shepherd, in the one beyond. With both, as always, I waited until they were calm, then slipped inside their enclosures, rewarding them for behavior that might ultimately help them get adopted. Then I went to the cages on the right side and did the same with Dodi, a sheltie mix. Junior, a Doberman, woofed at us from the left as we started walking past the center building. I didn’t acknowledge him till he’d quieted down, and then I greeted him, too. Despite his breed, he wasn’t aggressive. We always tried to avoid taking in aggressive dogs, since they were less adoptable.

The area was crowded with dogs that needed loving homes. I’ve always believed that letting visitors see as many residents as possible right from the get-go was more likely to trigger compassion than allowing them to feel they weren’t needed because we couldn’t fill our habitats.

The enclosures were well built and maintained, partly due to Dante’s generous support of HotRescues—and lots of bedding and toys, and, of course, food from his stores. In addition, I always prided myself on making each enclosure as welcoming as possible. Naturally, each animal had plenty of water—in bowls from HotPets.

For ease of keeping things clean, the kennels resembled cages, each with dual parts: a roomy outside run that led to a door into a narrow temperature-controlled building. Toy dogs were all housed in our center building, beyond the first row of enclosures on our right, but in separate rooms from our kitty locales. Most cats hung out together in areas filled with climbing toys and litter boxes, with a kitchen in between. We also had rooms for other kinds of small pets like rabbits and hamsters, but all we’d sheltered recently had been adopted.

Dogs were kenneled together, or allowed to mingle in our visitors’ park, only after observation to make sure they got along well. That minimized the possibility of fights.

The four of us—Brooke and I and the dogs—continued down the path toward the back shed, turning the corner so we could visit the enclosures at the other side of the uneven U formation.

“There’ll be a lot more room here soon,” Brooke observed. “More potential security issues, too.”

“Will you need more people here overnight when the two properties are joined?” I asked.

“Nah. I think we’ve got that EverySecurity bunch under control now. They report to me first, and they’re already planning to add cameras and all to the new building and animal enclosure areas.”

“I hope so.” My prior experience with EverySecurity also hadn’t been great. In fact, there had been a murder here at HotRescues as well as other security breaches, and the company hadn’t helped much in resolving them.

That’s one reason Dante had hired Brooke, a former P.I.

Her background was now feeding the idea that had taken root in my mind.

We looked through the gate toward the construction on the property next door. “The building’s nearly done,” I commented. “At least the outside.”

“Couldn’t be finished fast enough for me,” Brooke said. “I’m a little tired already of using that office upstairs in the center building as makeshift sleeping quarters. I’ll be glad when the other offices are finished in the new building and the whole upstairs is remodeled into a real apartment.”

That was because someone always slept here at HotRescues—now. We’d survived six years with only a security company on board till the problems that had occurred a few months ago, though I’d always been concerned about whether more watchfulness was needed.

Brooke had a few part-time security employees who took turns with her in being our overnight contingent, although she now most often stayed here herself.

Finishing our visits to the canines outside, we entered the back door to the center building, where we looked in on the smaller dogs, as well as the cat rooms. All the animals seemed fine, if, perhaps, a bit lonely. But Brooke would walk through again at least twice more to check on them.

I was heading home.

First, though, as we strolled back toward the entrance, I asked Brooke, “How’s Antonio?” Detective Antonio Bautrel was her new boyfriend. He happened to be with the LAPD, in the Gang and Narcotics Division.

“He’s fine.” Her voice went soft and mushy, unusual for our security specialist, but only for a moment. “Why, do you need me to ask him something on that situation with your old friend?”

She was nothing if not perceptive. “I don’t need it, but I’d appreciate it. I’d really like to know what the cops think happened to Bethany Urber.”

I explained briefly what I knew about Bethany, a little about her Better Than Any Pet Rescues, and her network of Pet Shelters Together.

“The cops might have zeroed in on Mamie as the killer, and it may be true . . . or not. I’d like to know something about any evidence they have against her besides just her presence, although I know a lot of that is kept confidential. Also, the media are saying that Bethany was allegedly killed with her own gun. Is that true?” I’d been wondering whether she’d taken it out herself and her killer had gotten it away and used it in self-defense . . . or whether the killer had been around Bethany’s place enough to know where the gun was hidden.

“I’ll see if Antonio can tell me anything.” Brooke’s grin was suggestive. “Of course, I can be pretty convincing.”

I laughed. “I’ll just bet you can.”

She sat down behind the counter in the welcome area, and the dogs stayed with her.

I retrieved my purse from my office and checked my cell phone. I’d received a call from an unknown number. The person had left a voice mail message, and I listened to it. It was from Gavin Mamo, the dog trainer Matt had told me about. He’d said he was available until eleven that night, so I pushed the button to return the call. We arranged for me to visit him at his training facility on Monday afternoon.

Then Zoey and I left HotRescues for home.

The usual lights, on timers, were turned on in our small but comfortable house in its gated Porter Ranch community. I missed my kids, as always, but was glad they both liked their colleges enough to take summer courses. They’d found jobs, too. Tracy was working in a Wal-Mart, and Kevin at a car repair shop. Both were responsible kids. Both were wonderful.

I also kept in close touch with my parents, and with my brother Alex and his family. They all lived in Phoenix. I hadn’t talked with them for about a week and would call them soon.

“Let’s go to bed,” I told Zoey as we entered the house from the garage.

My cell phone rang then. It was past ten o’clock at night, and I didn’t recognize the number.

I answered. “Hello?”

“Oh, Lauren, it’s so good to hear your voice!”

“Mamie?” Was she still at the police station? Had they arrested her, or—

She answered my questions right away. “I’m home at last. I did like you said and called Janice, and she got that very nice Mr. Caramon to come and help me. He’s a lawyer, too. He stayed with me, and then drove me home. I’d really like to talk to you, Lauren. Could you come see me tomorrow? In the afternoon would be best, ’cause I’m really tired now. Will you come? Please?”

Chapter 10

First thing, when I got up the next morning, I took Zoey for a walk around our pleasant residential neighborhood. We ran into others walking their dogs along our quiet streets, past similar-appearing houses of stucco and wood, and I proudly but subtly let Zoey show up every one of them. She was smart and obedient, and she recognized not only hand and voice signals, but also body language. If I stopped, she stopped. If I started going again, she heeled, whether or not I told her to.

She had been owned by a senior citizen who’d passed away without making arrangements for her. When she was brought into one of the city shelters, Matt, who knew my partiality for Border collies and Australian shepherds, had given me a first right of refusal to adopt her.

I hadn’t been able to resist.

I admitted to myself, though, that my mind wasn’t fully centered on my pup, or on the bright and warm June day in the San Fernando Valley.

I couldn’t help thinking about my impending visit to Mamie. What did she want to talk about? Would she confess to me that she had murdered Bethany?

Zoey and I took one of our longer routes around several blocks, then went home. There, since it was late enough for me not to feel bad if I woke my kids, I called first Tracy, then Kevin, just to see how they were doing. Both were already awake and even sounded pleased to hear from their worrywart mom.

I had intended not to mention to either of them that I knew another murder victim—or a probable suspect. They’d been through enough when I’d been a suspect myself.

Even so, Tracy said, “I heard that someone involved with that pet hoarding situation was murdered, Mom. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” I said with no elaboration, “I did.”

Same went for Kevin, who’d spoken with his sister and knew about the murder. He sounded even more concerned. “You aren’t connected with that, are you?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said, “although I’d met both the person accused of hoarding and the lady who was killed.” No need to worry him. My involvement in this case was definitely a lot less than when I was accused of murder.

After I’d hung up with Kevin, Zoey and I drove to HotRescues. Brooke was still there, but since our regular Sunday staff had begun to arrive, she and Cheyenne were preparing to leave. Zoey and I caught up with them as they made their final walk through the shelter area.

“Everything okay here last night?” I asked, stopping as always to slip inside and pat our nearest well-behaved canine residents before going on to the next enclosures.

Brooke, who also chucked one quiet dog then the next under the chin, looked a little tired—her eyes dull, and her attractive features drawn. That concerned me. Was her health situation acting up again? She’d looked great last night, though.

“Fine.” She gave Junior a final pat and moved on. “No noises at all. I did my couple of rounds and all our animals were just fine.”

“Then it’s time for you to go home and get some real rest,” I said firmly, then added, “Please let me know, though, if you get a chance to do any checking on the Bethany Urber situation.”

“Already have.” Her expression perked up. “Lost a little sleep over it—nice long talk with Antonio—but it was worth it.” The smug smile that told me volumes about her relationship with the cop was back. It also partly explained how tired she looked. “Here’s what I’ve learned so far.”

As we continued to walk, she filled me in. “The investigation is ongoing, but the detectives on the case feel pretty sure that they’re zeroing in on the right suspect. The autopsy’s not complete, but the cause of death appeared obvious: two gunshot wounds to the chest. The weapon was likely the one Mamie was holding and handed over to the first patrol officer on the scene. No threat there—she wasn’t in danger of being shot. Of course her fingerprints were on the gun but there were others, too, which were smeared and could be Bethany’s—or not. Mamie has been very cooperative, including telling the investigating detectives how she had despised Bethany.”

“What!” I exclaimed. “Even with her lawyer present?”

“I don’t know when she said it, and that’s all I’ve got so far. More to come, I hope. This seems like an interesting case, especially if your friend Mamie is innocent. The physical evidence includes the gun, and it belonged to Bethany. I’ve gathered that, per the interviews conducted so far, she let her nearest and dearest friends know she had one, though not where she kept it. Apparently, she knew she rubbed people the wrong way at times and figured she’d scare them off from retaliating.”

“Didn’t work this time,” I observed.

“Right. One more thing: Bethany apparently insisted that all Pet Shelters Together members wear a little pin she designed. One of them was found in her blood—not her pin, though, since she’d gotten one with diamonds in it.”

“Whose is it?”

“The cops are still checking into that. Mamie didn’t own a pin, since she didn’t join the group, so that’s something that’s keeping her from being arrested.”

“Good,” I said. “At least there’s one indicator that she could be innocent.”

We’d stopped near the back entrance to the center building, and Brooke regarded me shrewdly. “You really think she is innocent, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know her well now. But . . . well, though she obviously still loves animals, she was abusing them, intentionally or not. As far as killing a person? I hate to think so, but I really don’t know.” Mamie had considered Bethany a threat, but I’d, in fact, been the one to do what Bethany had threatened her with: tell the authorities about her hoarding. If she was going to murder anyone, wouldn’t I have been a better subject?

I didn’t tell Brooke that, though.

“Well, if you’re going to visit her—” She looked at me inquisitively, and I nodded. “Be sure to see if you can get anything out of her about who she thinks could have killed Bethany.”

“If it wasn’t her,” I said.

“If it wasn’t her,” Brooke agreed.

As I had the last time I’d been here, I parked on the street outside Beach Pet Rescue and walked through the dilapidated gate. Fortunately, the outdoor odor from pet excrement had dissipated, although I didn’t believe that the housecleaners would have done anything out there. Collapsed fencing and crates were piled in the yard. I supposed that, to prosecute Mamie for animal abuse, the authorities didn’t have to confiscate all the equipment. Some examples and photos would probably be enough to show a judge or whoever needed to be convinced about what had happened.

Assuming Mamie even faced legal action now for what she had done to the pets in her care. Maybe she would only be prosecuted for murder.

At least she apparently hadn’t started collecting animals again. I’d warned her against it, but that was a frequent occurrence with hoarders anyway. I’d double-check inside her house, though. I’d already planned to visit her now and then to make sure—but I hadn’t anticipated there’d be an additional reason, like a murder, to bring me here.

She must have been watching for me, since, once again, she appeared right away, hurrying out the front door to her shabby house. “Lauren! You came!” She dashed toward me and threw herself into my arms.

She seemed even smaller, frailer, than the last time I’d seen her, which was only yesterday.

“Please, come in.” She stepped back. “I’ve boiled more water for tea. Is that okay?”

“Sounds wonderful,” I lied politely. I followed her into the gleaming kitchen. The place smelled of disinfectant instead of poop. Heaven! And no animals begged for attention. In fact, I’d seen none . . . so far.

Mamie had again set two places at the gouged table in the middle of the kitchen, both with chipped tea cups in a floral pattern and mismatched stainless spoons. Everything appeared clean this time. Mamie waved toward the half-full box of tea bags that sat in between. “Please, help yourself.” A kettle steamed on the battered gas stove, and she picked it up. I put a tea bag into my cup, and she poured water over it, then into her own, which already contained a tea bag. After returning the kettle to the stove, she sat across from me. Her smile was brittle, and her eyes looked both terrified and exhausted.

She said nothing, though, so I decided to prompt her. There were two topics I wanted to cover, and I started with the one most important to me.

“Mamie, has anyone talked to you about what happens to your animals now?” They were, in fact, hers—and that was part of the problem, as Matt had explained it to me.

She nodded solemnly. “The lawyer Janice found for me—Mr. Caramon—he’s really nice. He said we could protest how they’d stolen my friends from me, but . . . well, he didn’t think we’d win. He also said they could start charging me a lot of money for taking care of my babies, or I could give them up.” Her eyes welled, and I reached over to squeeze her hand.

“I understand how hard that is, but they’ll have better lives if you surrender them, Mamie. I’ll make sure that they’re either rehomed by Animal Services right away, or, if there’s any danger to them, I’ve contacted other rescuers who’ll take in any that I can’t—and I should be able to handle a bunch.” I paused until she looked up, and I met her gaze solemnly. “Please promise you’ll surrender them, Mamie.”

Tears rolled down her papery cheeks, but she nodded slowly. “If you really think that’s best for them . . .”

“I do.”

“But—”

“It really is,” I insisted firmly. “They’ll find families who’ll love them. You know that’s the right thing to do.”

She drew in her breath. Her nod was sad but resolute. “Okay, Lauren. I’ll do it. I’ll let Mr. Caramon know.”

“You’re the greatest!” I went around and gave her a big hug. I’d let Matt know, too, so he could follow up on it.

Mamie still looked dubious as I sat back down. It was time for the next subject. “Tell me how things went at the police station. You said your attorney was with you there, right?”

She nodded, and her red curls wafted around her lined face. “Mr. Caramon is a very nice man. He told me to tell the truth, since he knows I didn’t kill Bethany.”

“I don’t want to interfere in any way with whatever Mr. Caramon told you,” I said, “but can you tell me why you were at Bethany’s so early in the morning?”

Her eyes welled up, and she took a sip of tea. “I couldn’t sleep. I missed my animals so much . . . I knew that Bethany lives—lived—at her own shelter, so I doubted she’d be sleeping too late and I decided to go talk to her. See, your place, HotRescues, is so far away, or I’d have asked you. I don’t drive the freeways much these days. Too much traffic. My car is still at Bethany’s, I think. Or maybe the police took it.”

“You’d have asked me what?” I felt utterly confused.

“I went to see Bethany to apologize for yelling at her during her meeting. I meant it, of course, but I wanted to work there, even volunteer, to be near animals again. I know she thought me a hoarder, and so did you.” She dipped her head, and I had to strain to hear her. “It wasn’t . . . Well, maybe you were right, but I never meant to hurt . . . Anyway, as hard as it would be, I was even willing to let Bethany supervise me, tell me what to do, as long as I could help rescue pets again.”

“I see.” My voice was subdued. I
did
see. Mamie wouldn’t quite admit to herself that she was a hoarder. Even so, she was willing even to beg the person who’d threatened her with disclosure in the first place, if only she could be around animals.

Unless she was a really good liar, and claiming she’d gone there to beg was part of her act.

“What was Bethany’s response?” I asked.

“That’s the point. When I got there, no one answered the buzzer, but the gate wasn’t locked. The animals heard me come in—some dogs barked, and they sounded very upset. I didn’t want to go see them without talking to Bethany first, observing whatever rules she wanted. I thought that would show how sincere I was. But she didn’t answer the doorbell, and the house was open, too. I just went inside and called out to her. She didn’t answer, but I thought I heard something, so I kept calling her name. I went upstairs, found her bedroom . . . and found her.” Mamie inhaled sharply. “It was so awful. Blood everywhere. A gun on the floor. I didn’t know what to do. That’s when I called you.”

She sounded sincere. Her story even appeared logical. Maybe that was another reason she hadn’t been arrested, at least not yet. The cops might need more evidence than her presence to get her convicted of murdering Bethany.

Even though she had all the elements I heard of in crimescene TV shows: motive, means, and opportunity. I’d even discussed them with the detective who had been investigating me as a potential murderer. This time, though, the means . . .

“The gun, Mamie—where was it?”

“On the floor, near Bethany.”

“Had you ever seen it before?”

“Well, yes. Bethany waved it at me when we were arguing before. I heard that she did that a lot.”

Interesting. So there could be others who knew about it. “Did you touch the gun when you saw it near Bethany?”

“Yes, to look at it, and to hand it to the police.” Was she really that naïve? She must have realized how dumb that sounded, since she added, “I wouldn’t know how to shoot a gun even if I wanted to, Lauren. If I’d decided to kill Bethany, I’d have figured something else out.”