Oodles of Poodles (20 page)

Aardvark Filming Studios occupied the whole fourth
floor. “They do a lot of independent shoots here,” Liam explained.

We walked into the lobby and Liam again called me his assistant to the woman behind the desk. We were told to go down a hallway and enter the third door on the right.

We entered a mini-auditorium, with tiers of seats arched around a small center stage. An usher pointed to two seats about midway down the stairs. One was on an aisle, and I figured that Liam would be able to do his filming from there. His takes wouldn’t be as good, though, as the ones that would come from the larger cameras at the periphery of the stage.

Two people were already seated right in the center, with the cameras pointing toward them.

One was a woman I recognized from news shows. Her name was Marissa Karigan, and she’d always seemed like a shameless gossip to me—maybe even worse than most other paparazzi. I’d guessed her to be in her fifties, probably considered herself over-the-hill, so she enjoyed embarrassing those who were younger than her, especially if they’d achieved notoriety for something other than talking too much.

And the other? She looked familiar, too. The long-haired, model-thin twentysomething female looked a whole lot like a new volunteer at HotRescues: Cathy Thomas, I believed her name was.

What was she doing on the stage?

She saw me at the same time, and her eyes opened wide. But I didn’t have time to talk to her. We were all told by the apparent stage manager to be quiet. The filming was about to begin.

I could be wrong—but I seldom was. The two women
could just look alike. Katrina was dressed a lot more stylishly than Cathy, who had to wear our HotRescues shirt while volunteering. She also appeared to wear a lot more makeup. But their names had some similarity, as well as their appearances.

What if Cathy Thomas was actually Katrina Tirza? Not that it mattered a lot that a volunteer used a pseudonym, since they were well supervised while handling our residents, but I didn’t like any kind of fraud being perpetrated on HotRescues. We did some background checks on our volunteers, primarily to make sure they didn’t have any claims of animal abuse against them, but we might start doing even more now, depending on what I learned.

With Liam leaning into the aisle, obviously filming it all, I listened closely to the interview. Mostly, as I’d expected, it was a tell-all about the councilman and how he treated his staff. And Katrina. She kept saying that she really shouldn’t answer anything, that Councilman Guy Randell was a really nice guy and devoted to the city, and all the standard verbal pats on the back. She actually didn’t criticize the politico. But the questions Marissa asked were nasty and incisive, and Katrina didn’t deny any specifics on the councilman’s behalf either.

Sly, intelligent woman, I thought.

Then what had she intended to achieve by volunteering at HotRescues?

Of course, Hope had been found a long way from the councilman’s Beverly Hills home. Katrina could have dropped her off near HotRescues. But as Cathy the volunteer, she’d have been told in our orientation that we couldn’t take in strays.

But Hope—or Ginger, her name according to her chip ID—might not have been an ordinary stray.

My mind kept churning on all the things I now needed to know instead of focusing on the content-free interview—until I subconsciously heard what I’d been waiting for. I hadn’t been certain the topic would be addressed, despite the controversial nature of the councilman’s position on animal issues.

On the other hand, if Katrina and Cathy were the same person, it made sense for the interview to latch onto that subject.

“Well, yes, Councilman Randell is an animal lover. He champions legislation that will help protect our poor homeless pets. Mandatory spay-neuter, no puppy mills, that kind of thing.” That was Katrina talking. Lying, actually, or at least stretching the truth. I’d already looked up the councilman’s position on some pet-related issues.

“But does the councilman have a dog of his own?”

I waited for the answer, staring at Katrina. She’d been watching the interviewer the whole time, so she wouldn’t have caught my eye then anyway. But I had an illogical sense, for a moment, that she was avoiding looking at me. Assuming, of course, that she really was Cathy.

“Well, he sort of did. For a while.” She looked away from the interviewer, although not toward me, clearly uncomfortable.

Or was that just part of her act?

“For a while?” Marissa pressed.

“He’s so busy that he really didn’t have enough time to spend with a dog,” Katrina said.

“Then what happened to the dog he had?”

“I think he gave it to a friend to adopt.”

She
thought
he did? How long ago? Did she know that the councilman had denied ever owning a dog when we’d called about the information on Ginger/Hope’s chip?

“But did you ever follow up on that?” Marissa wasn’t giving up, which was fine with me.

“No,” Katrina said softly. “But I’ve wondered. And worried. Poor Ginger…well, I really loved her. But Guy—the councilman—he decided it was best if no one ever knew he’d even tried owning a dog. And that was fine. He was acting in everyone’s best interests.”

Really? It didn’t sound that way to me.

And Katrina/Cathy had seen Ginger recently at HotRescues. But she might not have realized it was the same dog, even despite their resemblance.

I hadn’t told our volunteers how we’d come to take Hope in other than to say she was an owner relinquishment.

“Then you don’t really know whether the councilman ever found Ginger a good home.” Marissa was really pushing this point. Hard. Which made me wonder.

Had interviewer and interviewee gone over topics before they began?

If so, did Katrina have an agenda that included a discussion of the councilman’s adopting then giving up a dog? And a further discussion about her not really knowing what had happened to the poor thing?

Was this real, or was it an attempt to make the councilman look bad in the public’s eye?

One way or another, I wanted more information.

And I vowed to myself that, no matter what the answers, I wouldn’t allow poor Hope to suffer as a result.

As we left about a half hour later, after the interview had ended, I didn’t tell Liam what was going through my mind.

He clearly sensed that something was, though. He looked down at me quizzically as we rode in the elevator with a bunch of other people from the audience. I’d tried to rush onto the stage to confront Katrina, but there’d been too many people going the other direction and I hadn’t reached her.

Guards had told me that neither of the people who’d been onstage were available for further interviews or discussion, so I’d had to leave.

Out on the sidewalk in front of the building housing the studio, Liam finally asked, “What’s wrong, Lauren?”

I decided to dissemble. I didn’t know Liam well, but I did owe him since he’d gotten me in to the interview in the first place. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I was just interested in that discussion about how the councilman might or might not have had a dog before, and might or might not have found it a good new home.”

“Could that be your Hope?” he asked. He’d heard enough at our dinner conversation, and maybe through Carlie, too, to know my concerns.

I shrugged one shoulder. “Possibly. I’ve got more research to do, though. That’s for sure.” I even considered attempting to call the councilman again to let him know about this interview, but I felt certain he either knew about it or would learn soon—possibly from that nasty interviewer Marissa, who might seek his public response. She would doubtless hope for something antagonistic, which would draw in even more of an audience.

“Well, I’ll keep an eye on things from my perspective. And I’ll send you any links to discussions or whatever
about the councilman’s possible ill treatment of an animal. It might be interesting.”

Speculation gleamed in his light brown eyes, and I couldn’t help recalling that this man was, before anything, a media representative. I didn’t know for sure that KVKV liked to focus on scandal—but, then, these days, what news organization didn’t? And I had even seen him occasionally on-camera discussing gossip.

He was a good possible resource, but I needed to do my own snooping before involving him again.

I went home to pick up Zoey before heading to HotRescues. By then it was past noon, so I went through a drive-thru line to pick up a hamburger for lunch.

And yes, I did give Zoey a taste. I felt bad for leaving her alone all that time, and she deserved at least a small treat to try to make up for it.

As soon as I arrived and parked, Zoey and I walked into the welcome area. Nina wasn’t there, but our longtime volunteer Bev was behind the desk. A delightful senior citizen, she had a history at HotRescues and we trusted her to greet people and answer the phones.

“Hi, Zoey,” she said as my dog sneaked behind the desk for a pat. “Hi, Lauren.” Bev looked up at me. Her lined face beamed as if she expected me to react to her greeting Zoey before me, but I understood.

“Hi, Bev,” I said simply, then inspiration hit me. I leaned over the counter. “Bev, do you happen to know a new volunteer named Cathy Thomas?”

Her brow puckered even more than usual as she thought. “
I have met someone here lately named Cathy. Why do you ask?”

“I just…ran into someone who reminded me of her. Have you seen her socializing any of the dogs or cats?”

“I think so…Yes, I think I saw her in with Hope the other day.”

This just got more interesting all the time.

Nina came in just then, and I asked her to join me in my office. With Zoey lying at my feet, I asked Nina to pull the volunteer application, attendance record, and any other info we had on Cathy Thomas.

“What’s wrong?” she asked right away. She knows me well enough to recognize when I’m concerned.

“Just some discrepancies,” I waffled. “I’ll tell you about them later, once I figure a few things out.”

“You’d better,” she said, then left.

I couldn’t spend all day worrying about how Hope happened to have gotten here. She
was
here. And I’d make sure that nothing bad happened to her ever again.

Better yet, she might even find a new home with the Barancas, but I’d have to wait on that, for now.

I was itching to take my first walk of the day through HotRescues. First, though, I needed some information to be able to plan the rest of my week.

I called Grant Jefferly. I reached him immediately, so I figured there was no
Sheba’s Story
filming going on at the moment.

But there would be again, tomorrow afternoon.

“I’ll be there.” After I hung up, I called Carlie, intending to leave a message to let her know I was taking some positive steps to try to help her.

To my surprise, she answered the phone. Her voice sounded hoarse, though.

“Where are you?” I asked. Had her latest interrogation by the police been short, sweet, and absolving her of suspicion?

“I’m in the bathroom at the Devonshire station,” she hissed softly. “Taking a potty break. I just needed to get away. They’re asking the same kinds of questions as if they expect me to fold and tell them what they want to hear—like that I did kill Hans. Which I didn’t.” She paused. “Have you found out anything to help me, Lauren? Is that why you’re calling?”

“I wish,” I said. “But I’ll definitely try harder tomorrow. I’m going to the next filming.”

Chapter 21

It was late on Wednesday morning. I’d just completed an adoption at HotRescues. The match seemed like a good one—a cat going home with a really nice retired schoolteacher. Trite, maybe, but they’d already bonded. I was happy for them both.

I’d just placed Zoey into Nina’s able care and left my real shelter to head for the fictional one put together at Solario Studios.

I reached Woodland Hills fairly quickly, then turned onto the street where the film studio was located. As before, I hesitated an instant, staring at the large
SOLARIO STUDIOS
sign over the entrance gate before driving up to the security guard.

I’d talked briefly to Dante on my way over here. He wasn’t coming over today, but he vested me with whatever
authority I needed to ensure that the filming progressed as well as possible.

Including the perfect treatment of the dog stars and extras.

I didn’t mention my other plans to him, and he didn’t ask—although I was sure he wouldn’t be surprised by them.

After parking and glancing around at the large number of people heading for the soundstage where the day’s filming was to occur, I headed toward the building where the temporary kennels were housed.

Jerry and Elena were walking poodles—what else?—on the small patch of lawn around the building’s front door. They had stopped while the dogs sniffed the ground, and seemed to be engrossed in a conversation when I arrived—the people, not the dogs. Shaking his head, Jerry reached out toward Elena with his free hand and she caught it, gripping it tightly. Obviously these two did have a relationship outside their studio work.