Beaglemania (9 page)

Which I wasn’t.

My leaning on the table once more was no longer intended to resemble eagerness, but to hold me up. I couldn’t tell much of what was going on outside. How long did a crime scene investigation take?

How were my poor charges out there doing?

“So, Ms. Vancouver,” Detective Garciana was saying, “please tell me about the last time Mr. Kiley volunteered here at HotRescues.”

I’d only responded to that three times before. Instead of answering now, I posed a question to him—not for the first time, either. “Detective, please. When can I go outside and check on the animals?”

“Soon. Now—”

“Sorry, but that’s not good enough,” I snapped, earning a glare. “I gather you’re not much of a pet lover, but a lot of animals out there need to be fed and given water. Maybe have their enclosures cleaned. My staff will arrive soon. If you won’t let me out there, will you at least promise to—”

My BlackBerry rang. Not asking for permission to answer, I yanked it from my pocket. Nina’s number appeared on the display.

“Hi,” I said. “Are you on your way? I need to tell you—”

“What happened, Lauren? I just woke up and . . . Thank God you’re okay. You are okay, aren’t you? HotRescues is all over the news. They say someone was hurt, and I was so afraid—”

“I’m fine,” I assured her. I glanced toward the detective. He glowered but didn’t insist that I hang up. Not that I’d pay attention if he tried. “The thing is—well, I can’t go into detail now, but Efram showed up here. He’s the one who was . . . hurt. And now the place is a crime scene and I’m not being allowed to go into the shelter area to take care of the animals.”

I was whining, damn it. And to someone who might empathize but wouldn’t be able to do anything about it without permission.

I moved the phone away from my mouth as I said to Detective Garciana, “Will you please let some of my employees check on our residents?”

“It’s a crime scene,” he growled, as if tired of telling me so. Well, gee, it wasn’t as if the guy didn’t like to repeat things.

“Would you be this way if the crime scene was a hospital? Or a nursery filled with hungry kids?”

“I’d have taken you to the station to question you if I wasn’t aware that you were needed here,” the detective responded as icily as if his saliva was freezing in his mouth.

“Who are you talking to, Lauren?” Nina’s voice sounded distant, and I realized I still held the phone off to the side.

“A detective who’s been questioning me.” I looked back at him. “Like I said, some of my staff will arrive soon. Can they take care of the animals? Please?” Lord, it hurt to act polite, let alone beg.

Before he answered, one of the uniformed cops came into the room. “Excuse me, Detective,” he said.

Garciana rose and joined him near our reception desk, while I spoke softly into the phone. “I think Efram’s dead, Nina. I found him that way.”

“Where?” she demanded. “How?”

I didn’t have to choose whether or not to give her any of those details since the detective was already back in my face. “Later,” I told her. I again looked at Garciana. “I’m talking to one of my assistants. She’ll be here in a little while . . . okay?” Like, when was he finally going to give permission for me to do, or arrange for, what was necessary around here?

“I want a list of all your employees,” Garciana said. “They’re apparently starting to arrive.”

Big surprise.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the cop who remained near the door.

“Fine. And then, will you—”

“We’ll work out a way for someone to take care of the animals,” he confirmed.

For the first time in what had seemed like eons, I smiled a little. Then I told Nina it was okay to come here right away.

After I complied with the detective’s request for a list of employees—to which I also added volunteers scheduled that day—he let me flee into the shelter area. Not alone, but accompanied by a uniformed cop, a lady this time—Officer Plummer.

When I first went through the gate and onto the walkway, I stopped, stunned. The place hummed with people, some in uniform and some not. I watched for a short while as they flowed around one another as if experience had choreographed them. Some took measurements, others crawled on hands and knees with tweezers, picking up dust and twigs that had blown onto the paving.

The scene didn’t completely resemble the crime scene investigations portrayed on TV. On the other hand, I’d heard for a long time that those shows made good drama but were not based a whole lot on reality.

At least the dogs in the outside kennels seemed to be taking it all in stride now. I noticed a couple of crime scene folks talking through fencing to some of our residents, including Dodi, a sheltie mix, who wagged her tail eagerly, obviously delighted at the attention, and Junior, a Doberman, whose ears perked up as he listened to whatever was being said to him. I wanted to hug them both. But not yet.

I realized that some of the dogs had probably witnessed what happened. Might they bark more at the killer than anyone else? Not likely. But it was an interesting thought.

Pete Engersol stood with a woman in a suit almost as formal as Detective Garciana’s, and he looked down at her with an earnest but puzzled expression. Was he being interrogated, too?

I had to assume that everyone would be questioned, employees and volunteers alike, as soon as they came in. Maybe they’d even be sought out at their homes or alternate places of business. Some, like Mona and Si, were only part-timers, after all.

With the evident media coverage, it was unlikely that potential adopters would visit today. If they did, I’d be wary of placing any of our residents with them anyway, since that kind of person would have to be nuts to run the media gauntlet, or might be just publicity seekers. Not likely, either way, to be good candidates as new animal parents.

With Officer Plummer at my side, I ventured through the crowd to the first enclosure. Elmer, the black Lab mix, lay dejectedly on a nice, fluffy dog bed from HotPets until he saw me, and then he dashed to the front of his cage, wagging his tail so hard it looked as if it could act as a helicopter rotor and lift him from the ground.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I said, glancing inside. The surface of his habitat needed a good cleaning. His water bowl required a refill. And he was undoubtedly hungry.

My responsibility—and pleasure—now. Pete would want to help, and so might any volunteers who got through, but I couldn’t wait to see if I’d have any backup. Physically, I’d have no trouble doing everything myself. But I hated to keep any of our residents waiting.

Unless . . . “Officer Plummer, do you happen to like animals?”

She was about my height and weight but only about half my age. Her previously blasé expression suggested that she wanted to appear as if this all wasn’t fairly new to her. But now her feigned nonchalance disappeared into a broad grin. “I have a golden Lab at home, Ms. Vancouver. Her name is Trixie.”

“Great. This is Elmer. Can you help me take care of him? I’ll want to keep on the move, since he’s just one of a whole lot of dogs and cats who need some care right away.”

“Sure!” She demonstrated her sincerity by talking softly to Elmer as she took the pooper scooper from me and slipped inside the enclosure when I opened it. She picked stuff up and placed it into the biodegradable bag I handed her. I wondered if she’d get in trouble for suddenly assuming the role of a HotRescues volunteer.

I did the same in nearby enclosures, using only bags, not a scooper, for the initial cleaning. Hosing things down would undoubtedly have to wait until later. When I was able, I headed toward the back of the shelter area, skirting around where I’d seen Efram without looking down, as if he were still there. His crime scene outline might be. His blood . . .

I needed to get food for the animals from our shed.

Pete was still near there, talking with the probable lady detective. He looked up at me with concern adding new wrinkles to his already lined face. “Are you okay, Lauren?”

“As good as possible under the circumstances,” I assured him.

“We’re done, aren’t we?” he pleadingly asked the woman. “I need to help take care of the animals.”

“All right.” But she didn’t sound entirely convinced. Even so, she let Pete go.

Together, he and I took care of all our charges. A couple of cops besides Officer Plummer helped with the feeding, although no others assisted with cleaning.

I assumed that no one else who belonged here had been allowed through the police lines yet. They were probably being interrogated as they appeared.

Eventually, the cops apparently finished with all they needed to do. Detective Garciana again joined me. He asked if we’d covered a security camera for any reason, and gestured up toward one that had something tossed over it that appeared to be a dog blanket. Otherwise, it might have filmed what had happened here.

Shocked, I said, “I’ve no idea how that got there. Maybe Efram did it when he broke in. He’d have known how to angle himself to stay out of the camera’s way until he covered it.” It certainly explained why the picture had suddenly disappeared at the EverySecurity offices.

“Maybe.” Garciana didn’t sound convinced or enthused. Just skeptical. He didn’t ask any more questions, thank heavens. He didn’t assure me he’d never be in touch again, either. In fact, he gave me a business card, told me to call if I thought of anything he should know. I glanced at it, saw that his first name was Stefan. My assumption was that Detective Stefan Garciana and I would get to know each other a whole lot more than I’d ever want to do over the coming days and weeks, until whatever happened here became clear.

As the crime scene folks’ presence receded, Nina and some volunteers rushed in, including Ricki and Sally.

I was quickly the center of their attention, including Pete. I assured them that I was fine, and so were all our residents. And I extracted from Pete that he, too, was doing okay.

Knowing the animals would need him, he’d come in through the back entrance near the shed—and, yes, the gate hadn’t been locked. There’d been cops around, sure, but he’d somehow talked his way inside, bless him. He only wished he’d been able to start helping our residents faster.

When the group started asking me what had really happened to Efram, all I said was, “I wish I knew. But whatever you think, whatever you hear, you can believe that I didn’t touch him.”

While most of my crew nodded sympathetically, I have to admit, but only to myself, that the skepticism I thought I saw on a few of their faces hurt a lot.

As the morning inched along, more control of the property was returned to me. I realized this was a concession not always given so fast at a crime scene, but the nature of our rescue facility made the difference. Maybe I should have felt grateful. Instead, I just wanted the whole official crew gone. They were still disturbing our residents.

Not to mention me.

But they weren’t our only tormentors. I thought about letting Nina or the volunteers handle the endless phone calls from the media, but I’m no coward. And I had no doubt I’d dispose of them more easily than anyone else.

Capitulation wasn’t in my vocabulary.

But irritation definitely was. As I sat at my desk, the blinds pulled so the crime scene people couldn’t watch me, I had to stop myself more than once from shrieking, “Leave us alone,” into the HotRescues phone. Fortunately, no one had gotten my BlackBerry number . . . yet.

I didn’t give a damn whether I was raked over the coals on TV or in the press—except that it might anger Dante. There was no job in the world that I wanted more than this one. Plus, I thought I did a damned good job of taking care of our animals. Symbiosis. I didn’t want the paparazzi to ruin it for any of us.

So, with each call, I went through a litany in my mind:
What’s the best way of getting rid of this creep without giving HotRescues a poke in the eye?
Or,
What would Dante want me to say here?