Oodles of Poodles (25 page)

After taking in the vastness of this room, I began to zero in on groups of people until I found the ones I was looking for. Off to the side of the kennel set, Dante stood with Niall, Grant, and Mick Paramus. They all were deep in conversation—one in which I wanted to become engaged. Edging through the noisy crew and others manipulating lighting, cameras, and more equipment, I headed in their direction.

Dante moved back from the circle to let me join. “Hi, Lauren. We’ve been discussing how this scene will be shot. No likelihood of danger to the animals. They’ll mostly remain in the kennels, being oohed and aahed over by the people who’ve come to the opening of the shelter to eat, drink, be merry, and contribute a lot of money.”

I met his eyes and smiled briefly, silently acknowledging that he was describing himself—at least the part about making large contributions. “Sounds good. You’re okay with it, Grant?”

Grant wore his American Humane Association vest, but he, too, had dressed up a bit this day in a nice shirt and slacks.

This wasn’t a wrap-party day. There were many other scenes to be shot. But it looked like everyone had decided to act as if they were invited to the pseudo-celebration being filmed today.

“That’s the way it was planned.” Grant smiled warmly, which made me flush just a little. I nodded.

No one else said anything for a long moment. None met my eyes, either.

I gathered I was persona non grata in this crowd as with everyone else, as Jerry Amalon had warned. Oh, well. I could don a pretty thick skin if I had to.

In fact, I could even turn this into a joke.

“So—anyone going to confess on camera today to getting rid of the old director so Mick could take charge?” I asked with a grin while raising my eyebrows.

“Not on camera, I expect,” Dante responded as if I’d been serious. In some ways, I was. “But we’re not being filmed right now. Anyone ready to talk?” He turned to scan the faces around us. No one met his eyes, either. He laughed. “Okay. Lauren and I have talked about her inquiries the other day. I expect that all of us would be relieved to know the truth. Well, all except whoever really is guilty. Maybe the timing’s not right. Let’s hope the killer decides to
confess around the time
Sheba’s Story
is being released. We’ll get an even bigger audience that way.”

As Dante joked—sort of—I looked at each man in this group, in turn. I saw nothing on anyone’s face that shouted a confession of guilt. Oh, well. Clearly my little game the other day had accomplished nothing but making people uncomfortable in my presence.

But they’d have to get used to it. That’s what Dante’s funding told them, as long as he wanted me around.

Things were finally ready. One of those nimble double-jointed cameras on a boom lifted high above the set, and a bunch of guys with cameras resting on their shoulders came close to the kennel area, too. The dogs were already in position.

Mick Paramus moved away from this group and took a position near the set. “Action,” he finally called, and the shoot began.

It was definitely a party scene. Lots of extras flowed in and made a fuss over the kenneled dogs, then went off to sip carbonated water from champagne glasses and look festive as Lyanne Shroeder, playing a beaming Millie Roland, thanked them all for coming and invited everyone to contribute to her new Sheba’s Shelter.

The repetition went on for four shoots.

“Time to take the dogs out for a walk and drinks,” R. G. finally yelled, after a consultation with Mick.

Good call,
I thought. Grant Jefferly, who’d been off screen near the kennel area, smiled and nodded.

I’d been sitting in a folding chair beside ones occupied
by Dante and Niall. Niall had whispered his cheers and criticisms to Dante after each take.

I kept Niall fairly high on my suspect list, even though he was Dante’s friend. He had a lot at stake with this production, since he’d written it and was one of the producers. He apparently hadn’t gotten along well with Hans. Plus, he seemed to really like the job Mick was doing.

Was that enough reason to have killed the former director?

Then again, there was still Mick Paramus himself. Not to mention that other director Erskine Blainer, who had nothing to do with this film but everything to do with
A Matter of Death and Life
, the other movie Hans had hoped to direct.

How was I ever going to resolve this?

Or maybe, this time, I wouldn’t be able to. If not, what would happen to Carlie?

I followed the dog handlers while they took the canine stars for a walk. “They’re real troopers,” I told Winna. “So are all of you. I think you’re taking great care of them.”

“Thanks.” Her word was brief but not too curt, so I wondered if she was thawing a bit toward me.

Dante left after three more takes but dubbed me his agent in front of this crowd again. I was sort of glad, but I really wanted to get back to HotRescues.

I nevertheless enjoyed watching the party scene, celebrating the opening of this fictitious shelter. When the scene wrapped, Winna let me take not a minor canine’s leash, but the real Sheba’s to walk her, then take her back to the dog hotel. Too bad I hadn’t brought my camera again
today. But, then, I’d mostly wanted to take pictures for Dante when he wasn’t here.

The four young assistant handlers followed us. One moved around to open the gates of the posh kennel areas, which were carpeted and furnished with comfy-looking dog beds.

All of us handlers walked our dogs up to the doors of their living quarters and unleashed them, ready to close them inside—when a loud noise reverberated throughout the room.

I gasped and jumped—and lost hold of Sheba’s collar. I noticed that most of the others no longer controlled their dog charges either. Dogs, seven of them, started running around.

I realized quickly that the noise had been caused by Elena, who apparently hadn’t been watching where she was going and had somehow tripped in such a way that a folding chair near the kennel area had been slammed into the glass front, shattering it.

Clearly, these weren’t built with materials as substantial as we used at HotRescues. Were the dogs’ paws in danger? Elena was, at least, shooing the pups away, using her feet to shuffle the glass into a pile.

Even so, we had a canine riot on our hands.

“Sheba, sit,” I commanded, but the poor dog was clearly too frazzled to listen. Same went for the rest, or so it appeared.

Winna dashed after one poodle waving a leash and commanding, “Sit!” The assistant handlers followed her lead.

That’s when I noticed it. As Jerry followed Stellar, who
also ignored his commands, he was obviously as agitated as the rest of us.

So agitated that he reached his right hand over his head to scratch his sandy hair above his left ear in an awfully familiar gesture.

Chapter 26

I stood still for a long moment, keeping my eye on Jerry. He bent to pick up Stellar to keep her paws away from the glass. Noble, and correct. I did the same with Sheba. Good thing they weren’t large dogs.

“I’m so sorry,” Elena cried. She, too, hugged the dog in her charge. Winna was a little farther away so her poodle wasn’t in any danger.

Good thing all the humans, including me, wore rubber-soled flat shoes, since they were what had been recommended for the running around to be done during the filming. Athletic shoes are what I often wear at HotRescues, too. They were substantial enough not to allow glass to get through to any feet.

Jerry didn’t meet my gaze, though I didn’t have the sense he was avoiding me. He seemed oblivious as he carefully
picked his way around the glass, helping the other handlers with their dogs.

So why did this apparently nice kid break into HotRescues, let our dogs loose, and show that he could, if he’d wanted, poison our inhabitants?

And did all of this mean he had killed Hans? If so, I had to assume it was because he hadn’t liked how the dogs had been put into danger that last day of Hans’s being in charge. Or was there more to it than that?

How could I find out—and if he was guilty, prove it? Which I had to do, to help Carlie.

Too bad Dante had already left. I wasn’t sure enough that Niall was guilt-free to talk this over with him, nor did it make sense to tell Grant Jefferly or Dr. Cyd.

But I had friends I could discuss this with, even though they weren’t here.

I considered my next move. The filming, at least that involving the dogs, was apparently over for the day.

With smiles at all the others who protected the dogs, I helped to put the canines into enclosures far away from the broken glass. Then I stood off to the side with the other handlers. All of them. Including Jerry.

“I’m glad the glass in the front kennels
at HotRescues is more solid than what’s here,” I said to no one in particular, although I kept watch on Jerry from the corner of my eye.

“Really? You have glass on your kennel doors, too?” asked Elena. “I figured that real shelters looked more like the ones I’ve seen other places, with wire fencing and gates.”

“A lot do,” I said. “Even nice ones, although some pretty ratty shelters use fencing that’s dented and rusting. Ours were always nicely maintained, but we recently remodeled at HotRescues. We decided on glass for some of our runs to make it even easier for potential adopters to see our dogs and fall for them.”

Jerry looked at me. “Really? I’ve never seen that, though I don’t get to many shelters. Does glass help?”

“We hope so,” I said noncommittally. I wanted to shout at him about his last shelter visit, but confronting him here wouldn’t be productive.

How could I get him to admit what he had done at HotRescues?

“I’d like to visit HotRescues one of these days,” Elena said. “I heard you’ll be taking in the dogs who were rescued for
Sheba’s Story
when the filming’s over if they aren’t otherwise adopted.”

I smiled at the young handler, who’d put her dog into one of the kennels and now stood outside its gate. “That’s my hope,” I said. “And you know you all have a standing invitation to see what a real shelter looks like—mine—and to meet my volunteers and staff, in case that helps with the care of the pups here.”

And if they happened to take me up on it now, I would love to see Jerry pretend that he’d never been there before…

I turned to Winna. “When’s the next filming involving these sweethearts?”

She shrugged. “Most likely tomorrow, but I’m not sure. We’re always around to take care of them anyway, at least as long as shooting continues, so it doesn’t matter.”

Not to them, maybe. But I still wanted answers.

“There’ll still be some filming tomorrow even though it’s Saturday?” I asked, recalling that weekends didn’t matter to people busily shooting a film.

“I think we’re off on Sunday this week, aren’t we?” Elena asked.

“Could be,” Winna responded.

“Guess it would sort of be a busman’s holiday,” I said, “but maybe you could all come visit HotRescues then.”

No one accepted my invitation. But I’d come back tomorrow—and in the meantime, I might get some backup to put the plan that had started germinating in my mind into motion.

For now, it was time for me to go back to HotRescues.

“You’re sure it’s him?” Brooke asked.

Zoey and I had waited until late that evening. One of Brooke’s contract staff members was hanging out overnight, but Brooke came when I asked her to so we could discuss what had happened that day.

So had Antonio. And Matt. We all were out at a large family restaurant a few miles from HotRescues, after leaving Zoey and Cheyenne with their own dinner at the shelter. Matt’s Rex was alone at their house, so he definitely would go home that night.

We had all ordered beers, just what I needed to try to relax. I was extremely keyed up over what I’d seen and what I thought I now needed to do. But these folks were more than friends. I’d listen to their input and advice.

Then do what I decided.

“All I know,” I said in response to Brooke’s question, “is that the gesture that young dog handler Jerry made isn’t something you see often. But it’s the same thing the intruder did on the security video. Could it be someone else? Sure,
since the intruder was disguised and we couldn’t tell much about him. That’s why I want to try to check Jerry out to see his reaction at HotRescues.”

“Makes sense.” Antonio took a long swig of his beer, a darker one than I’d ordered. When he put his glass back on the table, he looked at me with his incisive dark cop’s eyes from beneath his jutting brow. His uneven features would have unnerved me if I hadn’t known what a good guy he was. Had he been in one of his detective suits, I’d have felt like I was about to undergo one heck of an interrogation, even without his asking anything. “But there’s something you need to agree to, Lauren.”

I almost called out, “Anything.” Instead, I smiled and caught Matt’s gaze. Darned if he didn’t look as piercing as Antonio. I didn’t look away from him, though. I had a feeling that Brooke would look as serious.

“What’s that?” I managed somehow to keep my tone light.

“We’ll have plenty of backup in the area of HotRescues,” Antonio said. “Even so, you’re not to let yourself get off alone with this Jerry, no matter what happens. Even if a dog is in trouble. Got that?”