Oodles of Poodles (24 page)

The stare in his dark, intense eyes was challenging.

I glared back. Without reservation, I said, “Hell yes, if you want to make sure your investment in
Sheba’s Story
is
being protected. I’m your extra set of eyes. And if solving Hans Marford’s murder also helps to protect the production, well—there’s no one better than me to figure that out, Dante.”

I caught the look shared between Dante and Kendra but was unable to fully interpret it. Doubt? Irony? Pity? A combo?

I started to rise. The dogs sensed my movement and all three sets of eyes opened and focused on me.

“Kendra has a good reputation in that arena.” Dante smiled at her.

“Oh, but Lauren has been doing such a good job on her own that I don’t want to interfere,” she said.

I ignored her irony and sat back down. “Tell you what.” I looked straight at Dante. “Give me a call after your meeting with Morton and the others. I really think I’m contributing a lot as your representative. It won’t hurt the production if I also keep the killer on his toes and prevent him from harming anyone else because his guilt would be too obvious.”

“Okay,” Dante agreed. “I’ll call you.”

“If they convince you not to let me back, please give me one more shot at persuading you otherwise. I really think it’s in your best interests to have me there. Niall’s your friend but he has his own agenda. My agenda is twofold: to be there for you, and to be there for the animals, too. Nothing there about benefiting me. And if you make it clear that you’re backing my presence, you shouldn’t have to waste time on meetings like this one unless you choose to. You can just watch filming when you feel like it.”

I waited to see if he agreed. I guessed that he did,
because he rose, and Kendra and the dogs followed his lead.

“I’ll talk to you later, Lauren,” he said, and they all left HotRescues.

I did get a call early that afternoon—not from Dante, but from the Barancas, asking how their adoption of Hope was progressing. I told Judy that we were still confirming Hope’s availability, but that so far everything looked good.

After all, even if the story had occurred as Katrina described it, no one had placed dibs on the poor canine who’d been affected, one way or another, by becoming a stray.

I was just being extremely cautious. Maybe too cautious.

Or was I just using Hope as bait to get the truth?

Probably both.

But at the moment I didn’t see any reason these people shouldn’t be able to become family to the dog.

“One more thing I have to do,” I said, thinking about how Dante said he’d make some inquiries. “If it turns out the way I think it will, I’ll give you a call and you can come get her.”

If it didn’t, it would subtract some brownie points from their daughter’s boyfriend, my son—but nothing I could do about that except try.

My second call came while Angie Shayde and I were in the cat house playing with some adorable, young kittens. I heard my name called on the intercom and ran back to my office to answer. I sat back down at my desk and picked up the receiver for the shelter’s landline.

It was Carlie. “What did you do, Lauren?” she asked.

Confused, I said, “I visited all the animals here with Cyd when she was checking on them last night after the break-in. Is something wrong?”

“I mean about Hans’s murder. I’ve been hearing all sorts of angry stuff from people who said you’d accused them in order to try and help me. Did you do that?”

The answer was yes, but considering her accusatory tone I wanted to soften it a bit. “I was playing a game of sorts to see how all the players reacted. I was hoping to get a good clue about who might have done it. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the result. Not yet, at least. But the break-in could be related.” Or not.

“Well, thanks. I guess.” Her tone had softened, although this conversation was bothering me enough to motivate me to start doodling on a pad of paper on my desk, and I never doodle. I realized I was drawing a lot of question marks of many sizes and thicknesses, and made myself stop. “But be careful, Lauren. Even though you mean the best, I’d hate to see someone like that intruder harm you or any of your HotRescues people or animals, especially if it has something to do with helping me.”

“Me, too,” I assured her. “And, yes, I’ll be careful.”

My next phone call was one I’d been waiting for. This time, I was just about to leave my office to go visit the building that housed small dogs to go check on some puppies we had recently rescued from a high-kill shelter. I grabbed my smartphone when it rang, though.

It was Dante. I sank back onto my desk chair, with Zoey watching me with concern. I waited for the worst.

“Well, Lauren,” he said. “We’ve had our meeting.”

At his pause, I asked, as I was sure I was meant to, “How did it go?”

“Were your ears burning? You were definitely a subject of conversation.”

“Yes, they’ve been tingling all day,” I said, rolling my eyes but glad he couldn’t see that.

“There’s going to be a filming of a major scene at the studio tomorrow,” he continued. I waited for the other shoe to drop: he either had to be there himself or send someone else. I wasn’t allowed to be there. “I’m going to attend.”

Was he angry with me for his having to interrupt his regular work schedule that way? Hell, attending on his behalf disrupted my usual routine at HotRescues. It would be good if I could get out of it—sort of.

“Okay,” I said, waiting for him to tell me to butt out.

“You’re going to attend with me,” he finished.

I grinned in relief.

Chapter 25

I spent a fair amount of time at HotRescues the next morning. For one thing, I wanted to assure myself that none of our residents was suffering a delayed reaction to whatever food had been dropped on the grounds two nights before, when they’d also been let loose.

Of course, if they’d been poisoned, they’d be showing signs long before now. Plus, Antonio had checked with the crime lab and sent a joint e-mail to Brooke and me to let us know that the stuff appeared to be a combo of several cheap dog foods available at grocery stores—although the analysis had not yet been completed.

Mostly, I wanted to make sure I fulfilled my responsibilities here. Going to the
Sheba’s Story
set wasn’t my job, no matter how much I wanted to stay in Dante’s good graces.

And no matter how much I wanted to ensure that Hans Marford’s real killer was caught so Carlie would no longer be a suspect. Still assuming she was innocent—and that was definitely what I wanted to assume.

I also spoke with one of the managers at EverySecurity Alliance, the security company we’d once relied on at HotRescues. We still utilized their services, but on a more limited basis now that we had Brooke full-time, and she had other security personnel who contracted to stay overnight here. We’d had EverySecurity patrol a lot more often last night, though, to ensure no further break-ins and scheduled them for additional patrols in the future. They had become more adept at keeping an eye on things ever since some intrusions a number of months ago, before Brooke was in charge, when a person had been killed right on our grounds. They’d had to improve, or get fired by Dante.

Eventually, after all the regular greetings of animals, staff, and volunteers, I left Zoey again in Nina’s able care and headed for Solario Studios.

I went through the same old thing at the guard gate, showing my ID and mentioning Dante. It looked like the same old guard asking questions, so I was perturbed that he didn’t just let me onto the studio lot. But I supposed he had his protocol to follow. And, eventually, he did wave me through that impressive entry gate.

I had to hunt for a space in the large parking lot. Apparently, the studio was busy that Friday. Was everyone here for the
Sheba’s Story
filming, or were there other movies being shot here today?

I decided to visit the dogs first. I felt sure they’d be friendlier to me than the people I was likely to run into. I hadn’t accused any of them of murder last time I was here, unlike the cast, crew, and even the executives. I’d go say a cheerful hello to all the people, too, but decided to work into it gradually.

As I walked down the street between the tall, mostly windowless gray studio buildings toward the one I’d started thinking of as the doggy hotel, I spotted some dog handlers in the distance, including Winna. She held leashes of two poodles, and along with her were four of her staff, also walking dogs.

I approached, skirting around people who had to be actors, considering the amount of makeup they wore and their gala outfits. Were they there as extras for the scenes at the end of the movie depicting the party at the animal shelter that the character Millie Roland was opening? That was what I’d heard was being shot today.

Eventually I reached the dogs and their handlers. “Hi,” I said cheerfully. “Can I help?” I held out my hand to Winna for a leash. One of the dogs she walked was the real Sheba, but I wasn’t sure which rendition of poodle the other one was.

“Only if you promise not to start accusing me of murder today.” She glared from beneath her curly red mop of hair. It should have felt comedic, but her look chilled me. Could she have been the intruder at HotRescues, trying to warn me away from questioning her?

I didn’t think so. She was too short, for one thing.

But could I really know the intruder’s height from the
pictures? And since the person had worn a ski mask, there was no way of telling his or her hair color or style.

“Okay,” I said mildly. “I won’t accuse you. Not any of you.” Her young staff had circled behind her as if to have her back in case of trouble. Their dogs sniffed each other’s muzzles and rears in a friendly canine way. The dog handlers formed a charming pack—excluding me.

That was their prerogative. Would they also protect each other, or someone else connected with the film, if they knew who’d actually killed Hans?

“All dogs needed inside,” commanded a female voice from off to the right. I looked in that direction and saw R. G. Quilby. Director Mick Paramus’s assistant was dressed in an attractive red suit and held an efficient-looking clipboard.

Winna stuck her nose in the air as she looked away from me and started following R. G., still holding the leashes of both white poodles.

Of the animal handling assistants, Elena, also in control of a poodle, looked at me with an embarrassed expression on her youthful, pretty face. Once again, I figured she was hoping to be discovered as an actress on the set, since she wore a bit too much makeup like the people I’d spotted, and was dressed in a lovely, flowing knee-length dress. I hoped she wouldn’t have to perform any gymnastics to keep her poodle doing what was necessary for the scene. She quickly followed Winna.

So did the other two handlers, whom I didn’t know. Jerry Amalon hung back. He held the leash of the poodle I felt certain was Stellar—the dog trained to roll over and
look scared. He was dressed better than usual today, too, in a button-down yellow shirt and beige slacks instead of his usual T-shirt and jeans.

“Hi, Lauren,” he said in a soft voice. We both started walking after the dog-handling crowd. “I don’t know if I should say anything, but you’re probably persona non grata around here. Everyone was talking about you a lot yesterday.”

“I don’t suppose anyone happened to confess to the murder while they were acting angry that I was pushy, did they?”

The kid laughed. “No, not that I heard. But don’t be surprised if no one else talks to you.”

We’d reached the building housing the soundstage used the last time I’d been here for filming a scene from
Sheba’s Story
. The others, dogs and people, had already gone inside.

“Why are you talking to me?” I asked.

“Because no one’s looking now, for one thing,” he said. “And because I’m not a real suspect. Ask me anything. I won’t have any answers for you.”

I laughed. “I’ll bet the others recruited you to talk to me to waste my time.”

“I’ll never tell.” Jerry grinned and followed Stellar inside.

The film set was bustling as things were still being organized. I looked around, seeing where the handlers took the dogs. Not much speculation involved. The scene had been designed to resemble an animal shelter—one almost as
nice as HotRescues, with a lot of kennel runs with glass gates opening onto a concrete path past them.

There was only one row of kennels, and they all appeared located within one large room, like the way Save Them All Sanctuary was designed. That was the shelter for special-needs animals, which I found particularly appealing, since they took in pets that were hard to adopt out like seniors and the disabled.

I’d helped to solve a murder there recently.

This set was a fictional shelter, of course. Though some of the people working on
Sheba’s Story
had visited HotRescues, this clearly hadn’t been patterned after it.

Dr. Cyd Andelson arrived and I greeted her. She took Winna aside to discuss any medical issues that had arisen with the dogs. I’d check with her later to see if there were any problems.