Oodles of Poodles (17 page)

“A few of our trainers, staff, and even cast members have said they want to adopt one or another of the dogs.” Morton looked at me earnestly from beneath his straight, ebony-dark brows, which went so well with the black vest he wore. His hair was sparse, but what was left of it was also black. So were the frames of his glasses. “But we’ve got a cast of
thousands of dogs.” He held up a well-lined hand. “Not literally, of course. But a dozen or more. All were rescued from shelters and trained specially to be in
Sheba’s Story
. Obviously for the sake of making certain our film does well and is perceived in a positive light, we have to make sure they’re not only unharmed but that they also have wonderful new homes.”

“That’s great!” I couldn’t help exclaiming, particularly since this saved me one of the conversations I’d wanted to initiate. “I’ve already been considering how to do that—assuming that was what you wanted.” If it hadn’t been, I’d have found a way to shame the studio into it. And now I could try to ensure that the assistant handler Jerry got his choice of pets. “One question to start with: Who owns those dogs now?”

If he said no one did, that they were just stray dogs who happened to be prospective film stars, I’d have to tweak his manner of thinking. But perhaps Dante had already cued him on how to address this.

“Solario Studios does,” Morton asserted without even an iota of hesitation.

“Excellent! Solario is here in Woodland Hills, which is a part of the City of Los Angeles. HotRescues is a private shelter that’s licensed in L.A., and we’re allowed to take in owner relinquishments. We can talk about it further, but when the time comes, if you want to turn over any dogs remaining unadopted to me, HotRescues can take them in and find them new homes. Please give me whatever warning you can about the timing, though. We’ve expanded our facility recently”—I smiled at Dante, who grinned back—“but I’ll
still want to make sure we’ve plenty of room for whatever pups you ask us to rehome. And if we don’t, I have contacts in other good shelters who can help.”

“We sure will,” Morton said. “It won’t be far off. I don’t think our filming of
Sheba’s Story
is going to be delayed by our loss of Hans Marford as director. Mick Paramus has stepped right in as if he was always in charge.”

“Looks like he’s doing a good job,” Dante inserted. “At least, I was impressed this morning.”

“So far so good,” Morton agreed. “I was curious about what you’d think. I’d heard about Hans’s last day of filming, of course, and how a lot of people were worried about whether the dogs actually were being put in harm’s way.”

He was looking at Dante, but I was the one who’d been there that day. “As it turned out,” I said, watching as both men’s gazes moved from each other’s onto me, “no dogs actually were harmed. Hans Marford had promised that would be so, even while filming that last take. He claimed that all the drivers were skilled and the scene had been choreographed well.” I paused for dramatic effect—not that I was any kind of actor, nor did I want to be. “But I’m with all those people you heard from, Morton, who were appalled by the dangerous possibilities.” Now was the time to ask some of the questions that had been percolating inside me even before I had this opportunity to speak with the head of the studio. “I’d love to know who else agreed with me. Of course, I knew that Grant Jefferly of American Humane was as upset as I was. Maybe even more so.”

“Aren’t you friends with that vet Dr. Stellan who’s got her own pet-oriented TV show?” Morton asked. “I heard
she really argued with Hans about it. Maybe even killed him over it.”

I groaned inside, wondering how he knew about my friendship with Carlie. In any event, that wasn’t the direction I’d hoped to go.

“I’m aware that the police consider her a person of interest.” I kept my voice level despite wanting to shout that, yes, I knew her, she was my friend, and regardless of whatever she’d felt about Hans she surely couldn’t have killed him. But notwithstanding what Dante knew or believed, I had no intention of telling this studio executive that I had unfortunately taken on an investigation into this murder to help a friend.

I recognized that my life had turned into a potential screenplay, and I absolutely didn’t want Morton Lesque to come up with any ideas in that direction.

Plus, I was the one who wanted information and he hadn’t given me anything very helpful so far.

“I think it would be a really interesting thing for Solario Studios to turn this whole fiasco into a movie someday,” I therefore continued, and I believed what I said—as long as I wasn’t involved. “In mysteries I’ve read, the perpetrator is always the last person anyone would consider to be a suspect. I know both Grant and Carlie argued with Hans about that last scene, which makes them too obvious as killers. Who else criticized him to you, Morton? Is there anyone else you know of who despised Hans, whether because of that scene or any other reason?”

Unexpectedly, he laughed. “I don’t suppose you’re a closet screenwriter are you, Lauren? You obviously have a good imagination.”

That elicited a guffaw from Dante. We’re close business associates more than friends, but he vetted me well before giving me the HotRescues position, and we’ve gotten to know each other even better over the years.

He knows that I have a limited imagination, especially when it comes to something other than pet rescue.

“No,” I said firmly. “I’m sure that Solario Studios has dozens of screenwriters at its beck and call. That’s never been an aspiration of mine.”

“But finding the killer is, isn’t it?” This came from Morton, who had a shrewd expression on his face. “Don’t look so surprised. As you can imagine, I have a lot of people on the Solario payroll, and I get them to check out nearly everyone who visits the lot. Others, as well.”

Not surprising, and it might be how he knew of my friendship with Carlie.

“I’ve seen online media references,” he continued, “about how you solved murders in the past, Lauren. Are you working on this one?”

I wanted to turn into a molten puddle of goo and ooze out of the room. But I don’t shrink from adversity or even embarrassment. Instead, I pasted a too-bright grin on my face. “What do you think? Of course I am. Yes, Carlie is my friend, and I know she didn’t do it. That means I have to figure out who did. So, a couple more questions for you, Morton. The first one should be easy. Did you kill Hans Marford?”

The smugness on his face turned to shock, then anger…followed by a smile and a guffaw that echoed Dante’s. I wondered if he had ever acted. He certainly had an expressive appearance.

“No, Ms. Vancouver, it wasn’t me. Let’s see. I’ll guess what your next questions will be.” He stuck the point of his index finger below his chin and looked up at the ceiling, while I glanced at Dante.

I couldn’t read his expression, which wasn’t a good thing. He was hiding what he thought, and that didn’t bode well for me.

But surely he wouldn’t fire someone as skilled and successful at rehoming pets as I was, just because I was being a bit outspoken here. He knew I was the outspoken type anyway.

“Got it,” Morton said. He looked straight into my face. “You’ll want to know if I’m aware of any other people who argued with Hans. The answer is yes. Next, you’ll ask who they were. Well, Hans wasn’t exactly the kind of man who got along with everyone. He was a good director, and that was what counted. The last person I know he actually argued with, though, was Erskine Blainer, because they both wanted to direct a particularly exciting upcoming film:
A Matter of Death and Life
. I was leaning toward Erskine anyway, and since Hans is gone, it’s clear now that Erskine will be directing it. Did he kill Hans? I don’t think so, but why don’t you ask him? In fact, I’ll figure out an excuse and set up a meeting for you.”

That turned out to be surprisingly easy. Or maybe not, considering that head honcho Morton was the one to call Erskine as we sat there.

“Oh, you’re headed toward the studio anyway?” Morton, still sitting behind his desk, grinned at Dante and me.
“Yes, that’s right. You and I have been wanting to talk some casting strategy about
A Matter of Death and Life
and one or the other of us has always had something to do instead. But I’ve got about a half hour to get us started. Oh, and there are a couple of people I want you to meet.”

He hung up after a few platitudes and smiled even more broadly. “He undoubtedly thinks I’m going to introduce him to some people I want him to add to his cast. I’ll bet he’s already thinking up excuses why he won’t select you for those roles. Unless, of course, you’re exactly the actors he already has in mind for them.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Thanks,” I said. “I didn’t mean for you to have to waste your time just so I can get an idea about his guilt or not, but—”

“We genuinely have been putting off this meeting,” Morton said with a dismissive wave. “Besides, I want to see you in action with someone you undoubtedly really consider to be a suspect. At least, I hope you didn’t really consider me to be one. And the sooner we get past all these accusations, the better.” His stare again looked cutting and even cold.

Since I owed him now, for several reasons, I just said, “I’m not a cop, Morton, or anyone else in authority. And I certainly don’t profess to know what I’m doing. What I tend to do is shuffle the names of suspects around in computer files. You were never near the top of those files, and now you’re definitely near the bottom.”

“Just near the bottom and not off the radar?” he demanded.

Dante broke in. “This lady never throws anyone’s names out if they’ve got anything at all to do with whoever the
murder victim is. Just in case she’s wrong, or at least that’s the way I understand it.” He shot me a glance, and I nodded. “But I’m associated with the last production Hans Marford was on, so I’m undoubtedly in her files, too.” He looked at me more intensely and I knew I was supposed to understand his unspoken message. “Where am I compared with Morton, here?”

“Oh, a page or two above him now. You had money involved, plus I know how much of an animal lover you are.” I smiled sweetly and was gratified to see just a hint of a nod. I’d done what he wanted me to.

We gabbed a bit longer about
Sheba’s Story
, plus I got a little more background information on Solario Studios’ intentions regarding the production of
A Matter of Death and Life
. That was perfect timing, since there was soon a call on Morton’s desk phone. “Yes, send him right in,” he said, then turned to Dante and me. “Erskine’s here.”

A split second later, the office door opened and a large, beefy man in an unzipped green fleece jacket with a Solario Studios logo on the pocket strode in. His jeans were ragged—whether by a fashion statement or age, I couldn’t tell. He had a round face with prominent lips that called attention away from the wispy yellow hair on his head.

My first thought was that he would have been more than a match in a fight with the skinny Hans Marford. But Hans had been killed by a hit-and-run driver.

“Hi, Morton,” he said, ignoring Dante and me to clomp past us and offer his hand to the studio’s CEO. I noticed then that he wore low-top boots that enhanced his overall strangely artsy appearance.

“Erskine,” Morton said, standing and shaking hands.
“Glad you could make it. I’d like you to meet a couple of people.”

Only then did Erskine turn to look at us. His expression was assessing at first, then dismissive. He clearly didn’t think we were actors Morton was about to ram down his throat, so he didn’t care who we were.

Yet.

“This is Lauren Vancouver,” Morton continued, chivalrously mentioning the woman first even though I was the least impressive of the two of us. He didn’t explain who I was or why I was here.

“Hello,” I said, without offering to shake hands.

“And that’s Dante DeFrancisco.”

Erskine’s lack of expression changed into a huge smile. “Dante. How wonderful to meet you.” This time, a hand was proffered and Dante courteously shook it. I wondered if Erskine had any pets and knew Dante because of his HotPets stores, or because he knew Dante had money that he had just invested in his first Solario Studios film.

“Hi, Erskine,” Dante said.

“Please join us.” Morton pointed toward an empty wooden chair by itself under the window. Erskine obediently retrieved it and planted it in front of Morton’s desk. The closest spot was beside me. I swallowed my cat-and-canary smile. Little did Erskine know what he was about to endure.

Well, okay, I wasn’t going to do my worst interrogation here, not with Morton Lesque guiding the conversation. I was unsure how Dante would feel about my questioning Erskine, but I figured he’d mind it less than my butting heads with Morton.

I let the men start the conversation. For a while they talked about general movie topics, which soon began to focus on
A Matter of Death and Life
.

Then it really got interesting.

“Dante, I know you’re one of the co-producers of that…er, wonderful upcoming production of
Sheba’s Story
,” Erskine said, looking over me toward Dante. Had he really been about to denigrate the movie that he knew Dante was involved in? Or was his catching himself that way by intention, to indicate that what he did was even more wonderful? “I’d love to tell you more about my vision for
A Matter of Death and Life
. It’ll have some of the emotion of that cute dog picture, but it’s more likely to become a blockbuster. It’s got sci-fi elements, and it’s a thriller, and—”

“And it was just so convenient that Hans Marford died when the two of you were arguing over who could do the best job of directing it.” That was me, cutting into the discussion.

All three men stared at me. I had to turn my head to ascertain that, but it was what I’d intended.

Then both Dante and Morton looked at Erskine, clearly waiting for his response. As if we’d scripted it earlier in our conversation.

His glare almost hid his brown eyes in his fleshy face. “Are you insinuating that I wouldn’t have been selected if Hans…” His voice tapered off, and he glanced toward Morton in apparent embarrassment. He forced a laugh. “I won’t put you on the spot, Morton, by asking who you’d have chosen if Hans was still around. But I’m going to put together a fantastic production. Just wait and see.”