Beaglemania (10 page)

As it turned out, I was given the perfect opportunity to find out. Dante was one of the seemingly endless callers, but he was the only one who called my cell. I was calm and professional when I answered, and I agreed with pleasure to meet him for lunch and give him an update.

When I hung up, I sagged in my desk chair. How could I put as good a spin as possible on this deplorable situation?

I’d just tell the truth. Dante was no fool. He was fully aware of the hell occurring around here.

And the idea that I might be suspected of murdering Efram?

Well, he’d been a murder suspect, too, not long ago. At least that was what the media jackals had howled. No apologies to him after the real killer was found, of course.

Just as there wouldn’t be to me now, by the cops. But I sure hoped the truth flashed to light soon.

The situation was hurting more than just me.

 

 

Dante’s office for his HotPets pet-supply store chain was in Beverly Hills. HotRescues was located in Granada Hills, in the northern San Fernando Valley.

I was, in some ways, Dante’s employee. He could easily have insisted that I meet him near his offices. But he was kind enough to suggest someplace in between, more or less.

We met at a restaurant in Encino.

It didn’t surprise me that we weren’t alone. His main squeeze, Kendra Ballantyne, joined us. I wasn’t sure where she lived or pet-sat, but I’d heard that her law office was in Encino.

I didn’t mind her presence. In fact, I was sort of relieved to have a lawyer to speak with, under the circumstances.

Not that Kendra represented me. If anyone, she represented Dante. And, maybe, HotRescues. She’d once represented all of us, when Efram threatened to sue, but her loyalties now lay more with the others, not me.

I’d always appreciated Dante’s lifestyle, as I saw it. He didn’t insist that we meet at the most expensive brasserie in the area, although he could have. And since he was treating—as always—he could have selected anyplace at all.

He chose an eatery that was part of a family-style restaurant chain. His only concession to wealth was to slip some money to the hostess as we walked in, buying us a table in a corner, as private as possible under the circumstances. I couldn’t tell how large the tip had been, but the hostess became really attentive, really fast.

Dante was a bit of an old-fashioned gentleman, holding chairs for both Kendra and me before seating himself. He was definitely a good-looking guy, with wavy, dark hair and intense, deep brown eyes. He was dressed somewhat formally in these days of business casual—a white button-down shirt—but at least he wore no tie or jacket. Here, at least. I suspected he had them available at his office, if not in his car.

“Let’s order first,” he said quietly. “Then we’ll talk.”

I nodded and picked up my menu.

“Unless you’ve got something you want to say right off,” Kendra contradicted. Obviously she wasn’t impressed, or cowed, by the authority granted by his wealth. Probably a good thing, considering their relationship.

He just shot her an indulgent glance, one that made me smile. I was glad to see Dante so happy.

Although I admitted, but only to myself, that I wondered why he’d settled his heart on this particular woman. Oh, it wasn’t that Kendra was anything but lovely. Her face was youthful, her blue eyes sparkling and inquisitive, her light brown hair skimming narrow shoulders clad in a stylish gold blouse tucked into dressy brown slacks. I had the impression that she loved giving the right appearance, no matter what the occasion, but not in an obsessive or arrogant way.

But someone as rich as Dante could have his pick of women. Mostly, anyway. Although I admired the guy, he wasn’t my type—assuming I even had a type anymore.

We all ordered as soon as the server came over—very quickly, probably cued in by the hostess. I opted for a grilled chicken sandwich with a side salad—and figured it would make a good dinner of leftovers, too. With everything that had happened over the last—was it only twelve hours?—I really hadn’t much of an appetite.

The black coffee tasted good, though. Hopefully, the caffeine would keep me awake. Or maybe the company would be enough, since I’d have to remain focused on the conversation.

“So,” Dante began. “Fill us in on what happened.”

“You mean you haven’t heard all about it on the news?” Sarcasm wasn’t really called for, but I knew I could get away with it around him.

“Of course. And if I paid attention to it, I’d figure you lured that S.O.B. Efram to HotRescues in the middle of the night and skewered him with a knife. And set it up so you could claim you did it in self-defense because he threatened you, but that wasn’t credible since he was stabbed in the back.”

Yes, that was what the reports were claiming now. I hadn’t seen the actual location of Efram’s stab wounds, but if that was true, no one—me included—could believably claim self-defense. Not that I intended to.

“Did I leave anything out?” Dante’s grin was full of ironic pleasure.

“Yeah,” Kendra said. “How about, she’s not allowed to discuss it without her lawyer present. So . . . would you like me to refer you to a criminal lawyer, Lauren? It’s not my area.”

Interesting that she would say that. I’d intended to ask her for just such a referral.

I shouldn’t need a lawyer, of course, since I hadn’t done anything wrong. But the smattering I knew about the legal system was enough to tell me to mistrust it.

“Yes, I believe I’d like a referral. But let me tell you my side, and you advise me if it’s necessary. Let me know if you think anything I’m saying would lead to any kind of self-incrimination, and I’ll plead the Fifth Amendment right here and shut up.”

Dante laughed as Kendra said, “I gather you like to watch crime shows on TV or the movies.”

“Enough of them,” I admitted. I’d already told Dante a little, so for Kendra’s edification I described Efram’s visit to HotRescues yesterday, ending with his threats. I let them both know that I’d decided to stay there last night . . . and all that had happened since.

“So you weren’t aware when Efram came onto the HotRescues property?” Kendra asked.

“Only when the dogs started barking.”

“And as far as you knew, you were the only one there—human, that is,” said Dante.

“Right.”

“Then what’s your opinion about who killed Efram, and why? And how they got in.” Kendra stopped and waved one manicured hand in the air. “Forget I asked. That’s something you should probably only talk to your own counsel about.”

“But do you have any ideas?” Dante asked.

I shrugged. “Not really . . . not yet, at least.”

Our lunches arrived, and I found I had more of an appetite than I’d originally believed.

Our conversation turned to other things—like the puppy mill rescue, and our current batch of HotRescues residents and how we were seeking homes for them.

I mentioned the situation about Brooke Pernall and her dog, Cheyenne, too, but told them I hadn’t yet started to get the information Dante wanted about her background or illness.

Inevitably, the topic returned to what had happened at the shelter and how it might affect our ability to rehome some of our inhabitants.

“Sometimes being in the news could be a good thing,” Kendra said. She looked at Dante, whose expression looked almost sour.

“Or not,” he said. I had the impression that this was a subject they had discussed before. I already knew that the HotRescues benefactor, though well known as a wealthy mega-mogul of the pet industry, preferred to let others hype his stores, products, and generosity in the media. I gathered it was because there was something about his past that he wanted to downplay, and I’d never asked.

“Whatever,” Kendra replied. “But, Lauren, as you may know, I . . . well, I feel a little responsible for what’s happened to you.”

“What?” I stared at her, even as Dante laughed aloud.

She mumbled something that I couldn’t quite hear, then took a quick bite of her sandwich.

“Pardon?” I said.

“I’m a murder magnet,” she said more loudly.

I gaped at her. Oh, sure, I’d heard that she’d once been considered a suspect in a murder or two. And I, of course, was well aware that Dante, too, had been the subject of a murder investigation. Then there were other rumors about her friends and acquaintances either becoming murder victims or suspects, but I’d always chalked that up to jealous gossip of other women who wanted her out of Dante’s life.

But she had just admitted it—as bizarre as that was. And unbelievable.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Kendra,” I said. “But I promise I don’t blame you for my being a suspect in Efram’s murder.” That even sounded odd to say. But since her guy was my boss, and more, I needed to make my opinion clear.

“Well, thanks for that,” she said. “Look, you may not know it, but I’ve had a number of friends who were investigated as potential murder suspects. I helped them all clear themselves. So . . . well, I’d be glad to look into Efram’s murder, see if I can figure out what really happened to him.”

I managed to smile at her. Then I looked Dante straight in the eye. “I can’t tell you both how much I appreciate your confidence in me. I want to stress that, whatever happened to Efram, I didn’t do it—not as a murder, and not even in self-defense. If it turns out that the cops really zero in on me as a suspect . . . well, Kendra, I really would appreciate your giving me a referral to a good criminal attorney. Otherwise, I’ll keep your very kind offer in mind, but there’s no sense in your wasting your time looking into this.”

For years, I had relied only on myself to figure out solutions in my life, and in my kids’. And I genuinely hadn’t done anything wrong.

Sure, I’d despised Efram and what he’d done to animals, especially being involved in that puppy mill situation.

But I hadn’t killed him.

And if that Detective Garciana or other cops decided to try to pin a murder on me, I’d find a way out of the mess.

In other words, if I needed to figure this out, I’d do it myself.

My mind darted from one topic to another as I drove back to HotRescues, like balls on an animated pool table in a computer game my son, Kevin, used to play. My responsibilities at HotRescues. That lady, Brooke, who needed help. The puppies who’d been saved, both from the storm drain and from terrible living conditions. Their parents. The wonderful Animal Services folks who rescued them. The likely puppy mill owners. Where had I seen them before?

Efram and his threats.

Efram’s death.

My relief at Dante’s ongoing support.

By the time I pulled my car into the HotRescues parking lot, it was only midafternoon but felt like late night. I was dragging. But my responsibilities here trumped my discomfort, or anything else. A bunch of wonderful dogs, cats, and some other small animals needed new homes.

Of course, when these guys were adopted out, they’d be replaced by other equally needy creatures. Who’d be replaced by others. Then others. Till I dropped—and even then, more people would take up the HotRescues gauntlet.

I couldn’t stop people from failing to take proper care of their pets or get them all to spay and neuter to prevent so many unwanted animals from being born, but I could do my part.

So the fact that I was exhausted? Irrelevant.

Hearing voices as I opened the door from the parking lot, I slipped into our welcome area. Nina was there with a middle-aged couple, who sat at the window table apparently filling out forms. We required a lot of paperwork, including a contract adopters signed to make sure they knew what we expected of them.

Nina turned toward me. “Hi, Lauren. Remember the Tylers? Frannie and Morris. They were here last week looking at pets to adopt, and they really fell for Elmer.”

“We’ll probably change his name, though.” Morris was a bit flabby, with more hair on his eyebrows than the top of his head. His broad grin looked almost sappy as he spoke about our resident, and I couldn’t help smiling back. That kind of caring was what I really liked to see.

“If that’s okay.” Frannie, equally chubby, was dressed in a loose Pepperdine University T-shirt. She looked worriedly from Nina to me, as if we’d snatch Elmer back from their waiting arms out of anger that they might dare to name him something else.

I wouldn’t, of course—not for that reason, anyway. But I needed to know more about them than the way they completed our adoption papers. “So . . . has Nina asked questions about your home, if you have any other pets, and where Elmer will sleep?”

“She sure did,” Morris said.

“They have a house with a nice yard, no other pets—and Elmer will sleep in their bedroom,” Nina added. All the things we wanted to hear, although other compatible pets were fine. If we didn’t get these answers, or other suitable ones, we wouldn’t allow our visitors here to adopt.