Oodles of Poodles (13 page)

Good answer, I thought. In fact, all of their answers were good ones.

Which meant they left that same afternoon with Slinker, a crate, some food, and toys—from Dante’s HotPets stores. Slinker had had all necessary shots and vet check-ups, and he was, of course, neutered, as all our animals were, as soon as they were old enough.

The adoption delayed my usual walk through HotRescues on my arrival. But it was worth it. And I finally got my opportunity to tour my shelter.

I smiled at everyone—staff, volunteers, and of course our resident animals, and they smiled back.

It had turned into a very good day. But would that continue?

I wasn’t sure. For one thing, I had to call Dante. There were a couple of serious things we needed to discuss. Zoey and I soon returned to my office after our walk-through and visits to a bunch of kennels and the cat house. Then, sitting at my desk, I made the call.

“Hi, Lauren,” he answered right away. “Good timing. I was planning on calling you in a while.” Which with Dante could have meant anything from a minute to an hour or
two. With his fingers in so many animal-related businesses and causes, he was a busy man.

“Great. How are things in the Midwest?” I pushed a key to wake my aging desktop computer from sleep mode. I’d had a deluge of e-mails but wasn’t going to even look at who they were from till my conversation with Dante was over.

“They were resolved and I returned to L.A. late last night.”

The break-in was resolved? Nothing Dante did ever surprised me, but I had to ask, “What happened, and how did you fix it?” I leaned back in my chair, waiting for an interesting recap.

He laughed. “Long story short? The kids the cops originally found around the warehouse after the break-in hadn’t done it, but they had seen something suspicious. A homeless guy was responsible.”

“Did he take anything?”

“Some food for his dog. And this wasn’t his first break-in. I’d been worried about an inside job. Instead, it was a guy who really needed dog food.”

“Oh.” I pictured some poor, scruffy man and his poor, scruffy dog, just trying to eat. And then I pictured that poor, scruffy dog at a public shelter somewhere, about to be euthanized for lack of a good home or someone to care about him while his owner was in jail. Yes, I’ve said I don’t have much of an imagination, but when it comes to worrying about animals my mind sometimes goes wild.

Unnecessarily, in this case. “So I didn’t press charges,” Dante continued. “Instead, I gave the guy a job helping with stock at the warehouse—under strict supervision of my
manager, who will also let me know if the guy doesn’t attend the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings I had him join. I also made sure he rented a room from one of the AA meeting leaders, a place where he could keep his dog. He’s required to volunteer a few hours a week at a local pet shelter. I didn’t stay long enough to make sure he was following through with everything, but I know my manager pretty well and he’ll keep an eye on the guy and report any problems to me.”

As with my imagination, I downplay any effusiveness in my personality. But I realized just then that, if Dante had been anywhere nearby, I’d have given him nearly as big a hug as I’d done with Zoey.

I looked down at my dog, who lay on the brown woven area rug I’d bought a while back so she wouldn’t have to lie on the bare office floor. She seemed to sense my attention despite having her eyes closed and her muzzle on stretched-out paws. She wagged her fluffy tail and I smiled even more broadly.

After that, my conversation with Dante returned to L.A. and the film business. I reported where things stood, including a description of today’s dog-free scenes.

“Sounds like things are progressing even without Hans,” he said. “I still want to visit when they’re filming a scene with the poodles. If you hear of any good time for that, let me know. I’ll also check with Niall.”

That provided a good opening for what I really wanted to talk about. “Great,” I said. “And while you’re talking to Niall, or anyone else involved with the production, could you check to see if they know about what Hans Marford’s next film project was supposed to be—and who the director is now?”

A pause. Then Dante said, “You’re still trying to figure out who killed Marford, aren’t you, Lauren?”

“What makes you say that?” I made sure no defensiveness seeped into my tone.

“Why else would you ask about what other projects he was scheduled for? I’m not complaining, but what precipitated that question?”

Dante was always an ally, so I told him what R. G. had said about an argument between Hans and another director over a potential upcoming project.

Dante’s resulting laugh sounded more ironic than amused. “So you’re hoping it’s this unknown director who decided to kill Marford to get him out of the picture—pun intended, by the way. Could be. And that would be a lot better than your friend Carlie remaining a suspect, or anyone else connected with
Sheba’s Story
. I like it. Yes, I’ll use my connections and see what I can find out. I’ll call you either way, but I hope I can learn who that shady director is.”

Chapter 13

A couple of hours later, Zoey and I joined Rex and Matt at a cozy restaurant that served mostly Greek food. The whole place was crowded, and our dogs weren’t the only ones sitting on the concrete patio with noses in the air inhaling the delightfully spicy aromas.

I selected a Greek salad and beef kabob. Matt ordered hummus for us both as an appetizer, then chose falafel as a main course. We both decided on ouzo as our drinks, along with water.

Then it was time to talk.

“You know,” I said, “Hope is still at The Fittest Pet. I talked to one of the vets and she seems fine. I’d like to bring her to HotRescues.” I looked straight into Matt’s face. That had been a question, though it wasn’t phrased that way.

“I don’t suppose Brooke has learned anything about Hope’s origins—like whether our revered City Councilman Guy Randell was lying and actually owned a dog who looks like Hope.” Matt was dressed casually that night in a bronze polo shirt over jeans. He looked good in it. He also looked good in his Animal Services uniform. And in much less, now and then, too.

“No, and no one from the councilman’s office has called me, either, about whatever he claimed to be checking into.”

I also was dressed casually, but I’d come right from HotRescues so I wore an open navy print cotton shirt over the regular shelter staff T-shirt.

“I’ll talk to Brooke,” I continued, “but I’d imagine she’d have let me know any juicy details she’d come across.”

Matt smiled. I liked his smile. He looked handsome anyway, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he was fond of me, too, when he smiled like that.

“No doubt,” he agreed. “Why not check with her now to see if she’s made any progress?”

But I only got her voice mail. She was probably doing her rounds at HotRescues and was diligent enough to put her phone on mute.

I left a message, then said to Matt, “Assuming Brooke hasn’t found out anything useful, can I just take Hope to HotRescues? She can’t stay at the vet’s forever.”

Which probably meant, legally, that as an apparent stray Hope needed to be turned over to Animal Services. And that meant that Hope, and I, would need Matt’s help.

“I’ve given this some thought,” Matt said. But I didn’t hear the results for a few minutes, since our ouzo was served, followed quickly by hummus and pita.

“So what do you think?” I asked after we’d sampled our drink and appetizers.

“I think this stuff is pretty good.” Matt’s raised brows told me that he knew exactly what I was talking about but had chosen to tease me.

“I agree.” I refused to play along. Instead, I dipped another pita into the hummus and took a bite.

He must have realized I wasn’t going to push him. “Okay,” he said. “Here’s what I’ve come up with. The microchip company is a well-known and well-respected one. I’ll need to confirm it with a higher-up at Animal Services—and I know who to approach—but I suspect we’ll take the position that the information on the chip is true. At least the owner’s name is. He didn’t choose to pick up his lost dog or even send an underling. In a way, that’s an owner relinquishment.”

“Yes, it is.” My turn to really smile again. As long as whoever Matt checked with didn’t stomp all over the idea, Hope could soon be taken in, loved and, hopefully, rehomed by HotRescues. “Any idea how long it’ll take to get confirmation?”

“I’ve already got a message in to the most appropriate person,” Matt said. “She was out of the office today but due back tomorrow. Could be we’ll know then.”

I was so happy about the possibility that I considered walking over to kiss Matt. But my standing would discombobulate Zoey and Rex. I could wait—at least until we headed out of here. And then a kiss might be more productive in leading to extra time together tonight.

Besides, there were other dogs I’d intended to quiz Matt about: Sheba, her many incarnations, and several of her closest friends.

Our entrees were served. Their aromas must have smelled enticing to doggy noses, since both Zoey and Rex stood at attention, muzzles in the air, when the server put our plates in front of us.

Both seemed to gravitate toward me. The charcoaled smell of kabob must be magnetic to dog senses. It smelled quite appetizing to me, too.

“Sit, both of you,” I said. “If I have any leftovers, maybe—and only if you’ve been good dogs—I’ll give you each a small piece.”

“And are you willing to give a taste to a human if I promise to be good—and to give you a taste of my falafel?” Matt asked.

“Absolutely.”

Once we’d exchanged pieces of our dinners and both canines had settled back down, it was time to delve into our next topic.

“I haven’t told you a lot about
Sheba’s Story
and the dogs that star in it, have I?” I looked at Matt. I was always surprised that a man could look as attractive as he did even when chewing.

He swallowed. “Only that the story is about a dog that ran away from an abusive situation and is eventually rescued, then adopted, by a caring person.”

I nodded. “That’s the gist. But there’s more to it that should really help get people’s attention even before they come to the movie.” I started with the background, describing how Niall had written the screenplay first, shopped it around, and got Dante’s attention. They’d both become co-producers, among others, when Solario Studios bought it. “That’s when things besides the script really became
heartrending. First, do you know how animals are usually filmed in movies?”

“In general. And in case you’re wondering, you’ve captured my interest. I’m eager for you to get to the point.”

I laughed. I usually don’t dissemble, no matter what I’m talking about, but this time I wanted to explain so many facets of how the Sheba story would be filmed that I found myself jumping from idea to idea. “Okay. Sorry. Here it is: Animals in movies are often represented on-screen by several different counterparts that are trained for different aspects of the animal’s character.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that,” Matt said. “So how many Shebas are there?”

“At least four,” I said. “One is her as a puppy, and the others—the adults—have different skills they’re trained for. Then there are her pack-mates, so there are quite a few dogs in the cast.”

“Right.” He watched my face as he took a sip of his ouzo. “And so…” he encouraged.

“And so, when filming was about to begin, Niall and some Solario Studios folks went looking for the right poodles…and found some who are perfect for the role. More than perfect. They’re all Shebas of sorts.” I explained how Niall and the others had gone to poodle breeders at first but that hadn’t seemed right.

Their next step was to visit animal shelters in the area, both public and private.

“Their timing couldn’t have been more perfect when they got to the Pasadena Humane Society shelter.”

Matt nodded. “Good group.”

“I agree. In any event, when Niall arrived they’d just
taken in a litter of poodle puppies about three months old, along with several older ones, including the pups’ mother. It wasn’t clear where they’d come from but they were all strays. No identification or anything. Someone at the shelter even mentioned that the person who’d brought them in claimed to have seen some of them running down a street—and that’s just like an early scene in the movie. Perfect! Except for the poor dogs, of course. They were homeless and straggly and hungry.”

“And taken to a city shelter by a Good Samaritan,” Matt said, nodding his approval.

“That’s right. By the time Niall first saw them, they were clean and well-groomed. Ideal for the Sheba production. He took them in after explaining to the people at Pasadena Humane that they’d all be well cared for—and that they were about to become movie stars. Some of the staff checked early on during the filming to make sure what he’d said was true.”

“Not surprising. And their story can only help with the
Sheba’s Story
publicity.”

“Absolutely!”

“So that leaves the question open about what happens to them all when the filming is over.”