Oodles of Poodles (14 page)

Matt was always insightful. He saw where I’d been heading even before I got there.

“Exactly,” I said, and regarded him. “They’re now in Los Angeles, not Pasadena. The Woodland Hills location of Solario Studios is in the city—and therefore in L.A. Animal Services’ jurisdiction.”

“Is Niall planning on adopting the dogs when the filming is over?”

“I don’t think so, and even if he is it won’t be more than one or two of them. Another couple might be adopted by Cowan if he thinks they have potential for other films, and one of the handlers sounded interested in taking one in.”

“So the others…”

“Need good homes. And Niall, or Solario Studios, owns them now so they’d be owner relinquishments if they’re given to me—to HotRescues—to find them a new home. Right?”

I looked at him eagerly, waiting for confirmation.

“Yes, as far as I’m concerned. Will Niall, or someone from the studio, vouch for their current ownership under these conditions?”

“I’m sure they will,” I said, hoping it was true.

I saw a hint of irony in Matt’s expression, but, good guy that he was, he apparently wasn’t going to question it further. “Then we’re all set.”

There were quite a few dogs involved, but I had a lot of room available at HotRescues. If I didn’t have enough, I had a great resource—Southern California Rescuers, a loosely knit alliance of shelters that shared information on a Web site and helped each other find homes for animals in need. I’d recently become friends with Ilona Graye, who was not only affiliated with a great shelter that was a member of the organization, but she would understand what was happening here. She was a secretary at an entertainment law firm.

One way or another, these dogs would all be well taken care of.

“Yes,” I said, swallowing my own purr of contentment. “We’re all set.”

• • •

I gave the dogs each a small piece of kabob meat when I finished eating. The serving had been generous enough that I even had a box to take home—not a doggy bag, but leftovers almost entirely for human consumption.

Matt insisted on paying, then Rex and he walked Zoey and me to my car. I’d had a fun time that evening and hated to see it end.

Fortunately, it didn’t. Matt suggested that Rex and he follow us home.

“Great idea,” I said. “I might even be able to scrounge up some wine and a bit of dessert.” Hoping that my son, Kevin, might be around that weekend, I’d bought some cupcakes and gelato. His presence still remained iffy, so I could serve the treats to Matt for now, then replenish them if Kevin really did come home from college for a few days.

On my way home, Brooke returned my call. I answered on my hands-free phone device. She assured me that all was under control at HotRescues.

There were additional topics of interest between us. “I’m still digging into Councilman Randell’s personal life,” she told me, her voice echoing a bit in my car, “but haven’t found anything helpful using online or other remote methods. I’m going to take Cheyenne for a walk in his neighborhood and see if we run into other pet-walkers who can tell me whether they’ve ever seen the councilman out and about with his own dog.”

“Thanks,” I told her. Maybe it didn’t matter whether the councilman was lying or not since I was apparently going to be able to take Hope to HotRescues and find her a new
home, no matter where she’d lived before. But I was curious. Plus, I didn’t want the councilman or anyone else to object to any adoption I’d work out. And I also wanted to know if he really did have someone looking into the situation on his behalf—and, if so, what they’d learned.

Brooke finished our conversation by responding to the question I hadn’t yet asked. “And no, Lauren, Antonio hasn’t reported anything new to me in the investigation into Hans Marford’s death.”

Zoey and I reached our home, Matt’s car close behind. He and I soon sat at my kitchen table enjoying the dogs’ presence again at our feet—and each other’s company—as we ate dessert and sipped the coffee I’d brewed.

We took the dogs for a walk soon afterward beneath the streetlights in my gated Porter Ranch community.

Then all four of us adjourned to my bedroom, the culmination of a really good day.

Too bad I hadn’t booted up my computer, since I discovered a very interesting e-mail from Niall the next morning.

Chapter 14

Matt and I, and the dogs, had risen early and taken a short but productive walk. We’d eaten a quick breakfast of cereal and milk, embellished by slices of fresh banana and strawberries. Then Matt left to take Rex home and go to his office at Animal Services, while Zoey and I headed for HotRescues.

I’d spoken with our champion handyman, Pete, as he got food from our storage building to prepare for our residents, and I’d even gotten in a quick chat with Brooke before she left. She promised to take her walk in Councilman Randell’s neighborhood that afternoon, after her usual day’s sleep.

And of course I’d done my morning walk-through of HotRescues, with Zoey accompanying me. I visited with a few of the dogs and cats and conversed with some of the
early morning volunteers who came in to help Pete clean the kennels and cat house and to take dogs for walks.

Then, finally, after chatting with Nina in the welcome area for a few minutes, I headed for my office.

That’s when I turned on my computer as Zoey circled for a few moments, then lay down between my feet and the legs of my desk.

I saw Niall’s e-mail and opened it first thing. He had information for me about the director who’d argued with Hans Marford.

It was someone whose name was as well known. Maybe even better known than Hans’s: Erskine Blainer.

Not that I really follow the film industry—at least I hadn’t until now. But most people who watch movies would recognize Blainer since he’s the type who appears on every talk show to pat himself on the back about his achievements.

And they were important achievements. He had directed film adaptations not only of some of today’s bestselling thriller novels, but also some old classics like
The Devil and Daniel Webster
—which he made into a combined adventure/horror–legal thriller film.

The e-mail concluded with “Call me. I know which script they fought over.”

Niall could have put it in the e-mail. The fact that he hadn’t suggested he was concerned about security. My e-mail account was with a major provider, and I’d chosen a password that no one was likely to figure out.

On the other hand, I didn’t blame Niall for being concerned, considering how insecure online stuff appeared to be these days.

I also wondered what that script could be, that its secrecy was so important.

It was nearly nine o’clock by then. Niall was a writer when he wasn’t on movie sets. Did that mean he kept odd hours?

If he wasn’t awake, I’d get his voice mail—and probably fret a whole lot till I heard from him.

Fortunately, he answered right away. “Hi, Lauren.” He sounded so bright and cheerful that I couldn’t have woken him. “I figured I’d hear from you pretty soon. You ready for this?”

His tone and words suggested he was about to reveal something particularly exciting. I inhaled in anticipation, even as the practical and most ironic part of me prepared me to be disappointed.

I wasn’t.

“The script they were fighting over was actually written by a novelist who’s also done screenplays before. But he’s most famous for his series of young adult books. It’s Carroll Cornahan.”

“Really?” I kept the squeal that threatened out of my voice, but I’d actually read a couple of Cornahan’s Val Avenger young adult books—while my kids were still living at home instead of at college. They were amazing even for adults. “They’re finally making a movie of those stories?”

Zoey heard my excitement and stood up, looking at me quizzically. I stroked the fur under her chin absently as I waited for Niall’s answer.

“The first one,” he responded.

“
A Matter of Death and Life
?”

“That’s it.”

The story had gained amazing notoriety. It was about a normal-appearing family in middle America who happened to be descended from the Valkyries, so that all the women had power over life and death.

They might have precognitive powers as well. I certainly did—about this movie. I predicted that its box office take would be huge.

That was undoubtedly Hans’s assumption, too, and probably Erskine Blainer’s.

Was achieving the directorship worth fighting about? Maybe, but they were both such revered directors that neither one’s careers would have been made by being chosen for this film.

Even so, if both had gone after it, their egos could have gotten out of control. Enough to argue wildly and publicly?

Probably.

Enough to kill over?

I’d never met Blainer. Even so, I’d have to add him to my suspect list. I only hoped I’d get a chance to talk to him to decide on his position in my file.

“In case you’re interested,” Niall said, “there’s going to be another
Sheba
scene filmed tomorrow at Solario Studios. It’ll involve the dogs. I’ll be there, and so will Dante—I’ve already called him. Grant, too, of course. Want to come?”

“I’ll try,” I said hesitantly. But if Dante was going to be there keeping track of things from his perspective, I didn’t really need to go.

I’d enjoyed watching the filming, but my obligations at HotRescues outweighed just having fun.

“From what I’ve heard, there’s going to be a meeting at the studio of some of the people trying to get
A Matter of Death and Life
into production.”

“Hans obviously isn’t going to be the director,” I observed. “Does that mean—”

“Yes, from what I’ve heard, Erskine Blainer’s been chosen, so he’ll be there, too.”

That meant so would I.

I thanked Niall and prepared to hang up. I didn’t know him well, but he was apparently reading my mind.

“I’ve got a feeling I’ll see you tomorrow at Solario,” he said.

“I’ve got a feeling that you’re right,” I replied.

I had an internal meeting on a prospective adoption to attend a short while later. One of our volunteers, Ricki, had been the one to introduce Junior, a Doberman who was one of our longtime residents, to the couple who now wanted to adopt him.

Ricki was in school learning to be a veterinary technician, so she wasn’t around HotRescues as much as she used to be. Even so, she was thrilled to be involved with Junior’s finally getting a loving home. We’d picked a day for this meeting on which she didn’t have morning classes.

Dr. Mona was there, too, as was our regular vet tech, Angie Shayde. We usually handled adoptions more informally, but the couple interested in Junior had admitted that they’d separated, then only recently gotten back together. They vowed they had mended the disagreements between them, and also promised that, although they never intended
to split again, if they did they would keep Junior’s interests primary and would work out custody in a way that would work best for him.

“Odd situation,” I said at the beginning of the meeting as we all sat around the conference table upstairs in the main building.

Or maybe it wasn’t so odd. People split up, and pet custody sometimes became an issue, but not always.

We’d had a dog when my beloved first husband, Kerry, died, and dear Bosley, our Boston terrier, had still been around when I’d married the jerk Charles Earles—and when I’d divorced him.

But in that situation, it was clear who had custody of the wonderful dog: the kids and I.

I’d previously met with the couple who wanted Junior, and they’d seemed very much in love to me. But I’d no idea how they had looked at one another previously before they’d split up.

“I thought they were almost disgusting in the way they were all over each other,” Ricki said with a grin. “And Junior seemed to fit in perfectly. They both gave him a lot of attention.”

“What do you think, Mona?” I asked our part-time shrink and adoption counselor.

She took off her glasses and regarded us earnestly, one at a time. She was dressed in a suit as usual but had taken off the jacket. Most of her formality was reserved for her own office in Studio City. “I think that, for Junior’s sake, it’s worth taking a chance. You always retain the right to visit a home where we’ve placed a pet. Plus, I talked to both of those people together and individually—with Junior present, of course.
They each seemed to have Junior’s interests at heart. Go for it.”

I glanced at Angie. I’d always considered her classic oval face almost cherubic, and her short, curly hair seemed to underscore the effect. As usual, she wore a turquoise lab jacket.

She’d met the people, too, to go over Junior’s health—which was excellent. But part of it was just to meet them as well. “Go for it,” she repeated, nodding.

The decision was made. I’d call the couple and tell them to come in to adopt the new member of their household.

I smiled all the way downstairs to my office, with Zoey prancing near my feet.

I purposely hadn’t brought my cell phone since I didn’t want to answer any calls, so I checked my messages before anything else. The first message informed me that I had to run. Well, drive fast, at least.