Oodles of Poodles (7 page)

I noticed that Hale, a Rottweiler mix, was alone, so I slipped into his kennel to hug him and play for a few minutes on his smooth, recently cleaned cement floor while sending Mamie to visit with another dog. Hale had been one of the pups Mamie had been hoarding. He’d been named
by Carlie, and so had a terrier mix called Hearty who had been adopted last month.

I paid attention to Hale despite how my mind began to wander. Carlie. Did she hate me now? If so, it was her loss…well, hell, it would be mine, too. Especially since it would be based on a misunderstanding. A partial misunderstanding, at least. I’d have to call her again. Maybe even take some of our residents here to her veterinary clinic as an excuse to see her. Then I’d be able to talk to her and—

“Hi, Lauren.”

My imagination had to be working overtime. And I didn’t have much of an imagination. But that sounded like Carlie.

I looked over Hale’s head through the glass gate to the kennel. I was right. It really was Carlie standing there, wearing jeans and a
Pet Fitness
T-shirt.

I gave Hale a final hug and a couple of small treats from my pocket. Then I left his kennel.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. At Carlie’s blink, I said, “I’m glad you’re here, of course, but I didn’t expect to see you.”

She appeared tense, with no warmth in her expression. That was unusual, but I kept myself from wincing.

“Got a few minutes?” she asked. “I’d like to speak with you.”

“Sure.”

We talked about the dogs in the kennels we passed on the way back inside the main HotRescues building. It was a good excuse not to talk about the explosive situation that
had crept into our friendship and threatened to blast it apart.

“I’ll be unavailable for a while,” I called to Nina and showed Carlie into my office.

I didn’t want to look or act official with so much already dangling between us. I motioned for Carlie to sit on the couch in the friendly conversation area of my office.

Her blond hair looked as if she hadn’t combed it for a few hours, which was unlike her. I knew she had something she wanted to say or she wouldn’t have come. Even so, I spoke first. “Carlie, I know you’re mad at me. I only said that you were there because I knew the cops would hear about your discussion with Hans from other people. But that’s all I—”

“I know, Lauren.” She raised one of her work-worn hands. Her smile was sad. “I’m sorry. I was looking for someone to blame, and it shouldn’t have been you. I came here to ask you for a favor.”

“Of course,” I said, not caring what it was. I would do anything to preserve our friendship.

But I nearly kicked myself for even having that thought when she told me what she wanted.

“I don’t know how far all this might go,” she said. “Whether the cops will really consider me a prime suspect in what happened to Hans. They have more reason to look at me than the little spat you saw. I’ll tell you more—but before I do, I want to invoke friend-to-friend privilege. You know, like attorney-client privilege. I don’t want you to tell anyone else.”

I stared at her. “But that attorney-client privilege is a
legal thing. I won’t volunteer anything you tell me, but I can’t promise someone won’t twist my arm to give it up.”

“I understand. But before I tell you anything, I want to ask…Lauren, if they really come down on me as a possible suspect in Hans’s death, would you please do one of your wonderful, independent investigations to figure out who really killed him?”

Chapter 6

I started to argue. I’d been fortunate three times before in situations I should have kept my nose out of. Well, I should have stayed out of two of them, at least. I was a murder suspect the first time so I had no real choice.

But, yes, I’d been successful all three times. That didn’t mean I would be again. Or that I even wanted to try.

Although I was a lot closer to Carlie than I’d been to the other two people I’d helped to exonerate.

Even so, I’d done enough. “I can help you find a private investigator to hire, Carlie.” I leaned toward her on the sofa. Zoey saw me move and came from the side of my desk for a reassuring pat that all was well. “Brooke probably has a slew of people she could refer you to.” But as I saw my good friend’s face fall, I felt my own insides start to melt—and I’m not an emotional person.

“Could we talk about it a little more?” she said softly. “Let’s go out for coffee. There are things you need to know before you decide—including how very much your friendship means to me. And how much I admire and respect your intelligence. And—”

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” I asked dryly.

Her smile was sad. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part—why I know I could be a suspect. There are things you’re not aware of…yet.”

She had me there. I might not be overly susceptible to emotions, but my curiosity had been known to rule my common sense at times.

“Okay. Let’s go get some coffee.”

I went through my usual routine first, hugging Zoey and making sure she was settled in with Nina behind the welcome desk. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.” At Nina’s grin I said, “I was talking to you, too, not just my dog.”

She laughed and patted Zoey, and Carlie and I headed for the door. “I’ll make sure things run smoothly around here while you’re gone,” Nina assured me.

“I’ll drive,” I told Carlie.

In less than fifteen minutes, we sat at a table on the crowded sidewalk outside a chain coffee shop not far from HotRescues. The spring weather was a bit cool but pleasant. I sipped a brewed coffee, and Carlie had ordered a mocha.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s hear those deep, dark secrets you hinted at.”

“I hadn’t planned on sitting outside, but it’s such a pretty day,” she dissembled. “Too bad we didn’t bring Zoey along.”
She looked up with her flashing violet eyes as if assessing how blue the sky was.

“Or Max.” He was the cocker mix whom Carlie had adopted from HotRescues when we’d first opened around seven years ago—our very first adoption. That had led to our friendship. “Do you want to call him and tell him where you are—and why?”

She laughed. “You win,” she said, smoothing her blond hair back with one hand. “I’ve been trying not to focus on why we’re really here.” She turned her gaze on me and her full lips pursed as she appeared to consider how to begin.

I just waited.

She took a sip of mocha and stared away again, this time toward the street where a few vehicles were parked nearby at the curb and occasional cars passed by. “Okay. Here it is—why I may become a suspect in Hans Marford’s apparent murder.”

I expected her to say that she’d contacted him in the last few weeks to get some additional information about the filming of
Sheba’s Story
that she could use in her
Pet Fitness
segment.

But I didn’t anticipate…“I had an affair with Hans.”

“What!” I nearly rose. The small movement I did make caused some of my coffee to slosh out of the top of the cup. Fortunately, I’d brought a few napkins to our table.

My shout caught the attention of people sitting around us. Some of them stared. I ignored them.

“It was a few years ago,” Carlie continued softly, as if I hadn’t just nearly made a fool out of myself—not my usual practice, of course. “
Pet Fitness
had only been airing for a few months. Hans was already a well-known movie director.
Apparently he likes animals, although he certainly didn’t make that obvious while filming
Sheba’s Story
—at least not during that last outside street shoot.”

She paused, and I stifled my urge to shake more out of her faster. I knew her well enough to realize she was once more gathering her thoughts.

“Anyway, he was on a break between films and approached the executives at the Longevity Vision Channel. He said how much he liked my show and requested an opportunity to get involved with filming an episode or two. I was new enough at it that I was thrilled. Impressed. And readily seducible. But he got his next major motion picture gig, and that was that.”

“Was the end of the relationship amicable?” I asked. I was surprised. Although I’d seen Carlie in a relationship or two since we’d become friends, I hadn’t imagined her in a brief affair with a well-known Hollywood director.

“I wasn’t thrilled,” she admitted. “But I was a big girl. I knew I’d get over it. And I did. Fast. That wasn’t his real intention, though. He expected I’d be waiting by the phone for him to call and ask me to join him in bed the next time he was in town. I didn’t. He showed up at my place anyway. That’s when we had words.”

“Nasty ones, I surmise.”

She aimed her next wry smile toward the coffee cup in her hand. “Imagine really nasty and you’ll have it.” She sighed. “That was that. We hadn’t spoken in between at all, and I knew I was asking for trouble by agreeing to have The Fittest Pet provide the vet services for
Sheba’s Story
. But I was excited about the opportunity—both because of
the subject matter of the film and because I was told I could do a
Pet Fitness
segment on it.”

“Did Hans know you’d be involved?”

“Sure. When I was contacted because of my connection to you and HotRescues and therefore Dante, the studio executives proudly told me who the director was. I suggested that they check with him before confirming me as the vet. I didn’t say why, but apparently he had no problem with it.”

“I’d no idea that you knew each other when I was on the set those first days of filming,” I said. “Did Hans ever acknowledge it when you were both around?”

“No, and neither did I.”

My coffee was growing cold. “I’m going to go buy a refill. Want one?”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll hold the table.” She reached for her purse to pay me.

“Don’t bother. I’d rather that you owe me.”

She laughed, and I headed inside.

When I returned, she was staring again at her hands, which were clasped on the table. She looked startled when I put her cup down in front of her.

“I’ve been wondering,” I said as I sat back down. I kept my voice low because of what I was about to ask. “Why would you think you’d be considered a suspect in his death? You’re someone to interrogate, sure, like the rest of us. But what you went through was a while ago, and I doubt anyone connected with the film was aware of it.”

“A lot of people we both knew were aware of it then,” she replied. “This was the first time we’d gotten together since, and I was attacking his treatment of the dogs the last
time we spoke—right in front of people. Maybe it’s a stretch, but the cops may find out and ask questions and—”

She caught my dubious expression and stopped. And looked down. And blushed.

“Okay.” She still didn’t meet my eyes. “He called me that first night after I came to the set. I was cordial, but I cordially told him where to shove his suggestion for a get-together. I also said I wouldn’t stay away from the filming, since I was always concerned about animals. We got into a shouting match over the phone. I was in my office. One of my vet techs didn’t realize I was busy and came in at just the wrong time with some paperwork for me to review. I don’t know whether Hans was alone or where he was. But if the cops learn about that…”

“I get it,” I said. “They’ll be looking for any potential suspect with a grudge against Hans Marford for any reason.”

“I won’t reveal anything to them unless they ask me directly, and then I know better than to lie—although I might invoke my Fifth Amendment right and hire a lawyer, just in case. But if that happens…” The gaze she leveled on me then was pleading, and she reached over to grab my arm. “Please, Lauren. I know you can’t make any guarantees, but with your score in investigating murders so far, I’d really appreciate it if you’d try to find out who really did it.”

My sigh was long and deep. “Okay, Carlie,” I said slowly. “Like you said, no guarantees. But if the cops zero in on you, I’ll see what I can do.”

She rose and gave me a hug. “Thank you, Lauren,” she said hoarsely.

As she sat back down I took another swig of coffee and
tried not to kick myself in the butt. After all, she might never be considered a major suspect.

We both had to get back to our responsibilities. Cups in hand, we walked slowly down the street to where I’d parked my Venza.

And stopped, half a block away.

There, on the sidewalk in front of a dry cleaner’s, was a scruffy-looking dog, chestnut in color with long, curly fur. If I had to guess, I figured it was part cocker spaniel and part poodle.

It wasn’t on a leash. No person stood near it. I looked around. There wasn’t anyone else nearby. No one dashed down the street looking for this pup.

“Do you see that?” Carlie asked, looking around, too.

“A stray,” I surmised. “Here, hold this.” I handed Carlie my cup. “I’ll go grab her.” I’d checked as well as I could from a few feet away and believed the dog to be female.

She wore no collar. When I got closer, she shied away, running much too close to the street.

I drew in my breath in fear for her—then realized that I still wore my HotRescues work clothes. That meant—