My BlackBerry rang. I pulled it from my pocket and saw the caller ID. “Hi, Carlie.”

“Hey. I’m back in LA at last.”

“You didn’t warn me you were coming last time we talked.”

“I wasn’t sure. So what’s going on?”

I’d want to hear all about her trip but, at this moment, had even more of a desire to vent to a friend.

“Nothing much. I just visited the loving stepmother of the guy murdered at HotRescues. She recognized me from the news and attacked, claiming I was his murderer. When she calmed down, I tried to get her to admit she killed her stepson. That’s all.”

“Just another boring day in LaLa Land.” LA, of course. “So, is the strategy you mentioned working? Did she confess?” Carlie was never fazed by anything, no matter how bizarre. I suppose she had to be that way, as a veterinarian. Even more so, as the star of her own TV show.

“No, but she gave me a reason to check with Efram’s girlfriend.” I leaned back in the driver’s seat. I’d a feeling this could be a lengthy conversation, and I didn’t necessarily want to use my BlueTooth.

“You mean someone actually hooked up with that ruthless freak?”

“I haven’t talked to her yet, but that’s what I gathered.”

“Eeew. What miserable taste that woman must have.”

“My sentiments exactly,” I agreed.

“So when will I be able to do a show around the puppy mill and Efram’s death?”

“What does that ugly situation have to do with pet longevity?” I asked. That was the focus of her TV show.

“The puppy mill aspect, of course. I can get into how people who breed dogs over and over can kill not only the parents, but also subject resulting puppies to major health problems from the ugly conditions, inbreeding, and all. I’ve done shows warning people to check out puppies from pet shops carefully, since so many get the animals they sell from puppy mills or similar places for kittens.”

I’d seen at least a couple of those shows. I’d been a fan of Carlie’s since I met her and she adopted Max. “You’d focus on the potential health problems?” I asked.

“That’s what I do, kid.”

“Sure, but the puppy mill has been shut down. The owners are still around, but I doubt they’d talk to you since they were arrested for animal cruelty. And I haven’t exonerated them in Efram’s death.”

“Have the police?”

“I sure hope not, but they seem to love me as their top suspect.”

“With your involvement, I’d have an inside track on this story. Could turn my little show into—”

“A tabloid clone.” Carlie was one of my best friends, but sometimes she went too far in her zeal to turn a great topical show on pet health to something with a bigger audience. Which meant more controversial subjects.

Like murder investigations? I hadn’t seen that on Pet Fitness before, but there was always a first time.

“Hey, I’ll do anything to call the public’s attention to animal health problems and save lives. So, when can we get together for an interview that I can use on the air?”

“Not till they’ve arrested someone else for killing Efram.”

“But maybe I can help.”

And maybe I could figure out how to use her show, as I worked further on my organizational plan . . .

“I appreciate the offer, Carlie, but let me think about it.”

“Which means no.”

“It just means not yet. Are you pouting?” I asked.

“I deserve to,” Carlie responded, then laughed.

It was past time to turn the conversation in a different direction. “So how are you doing?” I asked. “And tell me about the show you were just filming. You were gone nearly a month.”

“Don’t I know it? But I got some great stuff—mostly about products manufactured by an outfit in New York that specializes in items for disabled dogs.”

“Things like ramps to help them get into bed?”

“Exactly. And wheels that can be attached to hindquarters if the dog loses limbs or is paralyzed, harnesses to help them stand up, that kind of thing.”

“I assume you knew about this equipment before.”

“Sure. Vets get all kinds of promotional material from companies like this. But our professional focus is on preventing or curing diseases. This episode will be more about how to turn a bad situation into something more livable both for the pup and its owner.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Someday, I might need things like that for residents of HotRescues. We generally saved only healthy animals from high-kill shelters whose lives were threatened because of overcrowding of the other facilities. Once or twice, we’d rescued animals with minor disabilities—and in those instances, I’d taken them to Carlie to get them back on their feet, figuratively and literally.

I’d had to forgo saving other animals—a heartbreak—when not adoptable because of a more major disability. But maybe some could be rehabilitated with products that Carlie would feature.

“When will that show air?” I asked her.

“It’ll be several episodes, starting next month. We need to get together long before then.”

We arranged to talk again soon to work out meeting for a drink or dinner. I said goodbye with a smile on my face.

Time flew by while I drove to HotRescues and mulled over the possibilities suggested by the contents of Carlie’s upcoming shows.

I pulled into my space at HotRescues and entered the welcome area, smiling again at how kitty Princess had found a loving new home earlier that day. How I wished for a happy ending like that for all our charges—present and future.

“Hi, Lauren.” Nina looked up from the computer. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” That was at least half true. “How about here?”

“It’s been quiet. Ricki had to leave early to go to an orientation this evening at the school she’s going to attend, so I’m out here for now.”

I glanced at what Nina had on the computer as I passed on the way to my office. It appeared to be a local news site—which made me shudder.

“One good thing is that the furor about Efram’s death seems to be dying somewhat—pun intended—at least for the moment.” Nina was obviously aware that I was looking over her shoulder. “Till something breaks in the case, maybe. Another good thing is that HotRescues shows up even more on the Internet than before, in positive ways. I’ve Googled it, plus I have a Google Alert set to send me notices of when the HotRescues name appears online. Yours, too, by the way. There are a lot more mentions of HotRescues than there used to be before you got involved in the puppy mill rescue, and most don’t mention Dante.”

That was definitely a change. HotRescues was one of lots of private rescue organizations. What made it stand out was that Dante was its chief benefactor. For a guy who chose to stay out of the public eye, he was certainly in it a lot.

“Thanks for checking,” I said. “Be sure to let me know if you see anything new that I should know about.”

Nina nodded, and I patted her lightly on the shoulder as I headed into my office.

I stowed my purse inside a drawer. Then, making sure the door was closed and the blinds drawn, I quickly changed from the dressy clothes I’d worn for my in-your-face meetings into the casually official HotRescues outfit I always kept here.

I sat down and glanced at my old computer that enticed me with its dark screen. I could turn it on, or I could go outside and visit our inhabitants. Guess which won.

As I rose, though, my BlackBerry rang. I quickly sat again, yanked open the drawer and rummaged through my purse until I found my little high-tech companion. The number on caller ID was unfamiliar.

“Hello?” The word came out somewhat belligerently. “Lauren Vancouver?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“My name is Shellie Benudo. Efram Kiley was my boyfriend.”

The last sentence was redundant. I knew who she was.

“Oh, yes, Shellie. I’m very sorry for your loss.” I kept my tone funereal and sympathetic. I actually did feel compassion for her, at least a little. I didn’t know yet if she was aware of what kind of creep her guy had been.

My good attitude quickly disappeared, though, as if she’d wadded it up into a ball and kicked it into a seething mass of boiling tar when she responded. “Yeah, I bet you are, you bitch. If you gave a damn, you wouldn’t have killed him.”

I curled my hand that wasn’t holding the phone into a tight fist. Yet again, I thought of the phrase about the best defense being a good offense. If she’d been in Efram’s life, she must have had some idea what a heartless jerk he was. Why not kill him and blame someone else? Like me.

I didn’t accuse her, though, despite what she’d said to me. Instead, I kept my tone mild. “So you’ve been watching the news? Not true, of course, but interesting. I discovered Efram’s body, that’s all. He was trespassing, but I didn’t even know he was around until I found him on the ground.” Did you come here with him? I wanted to ask . . . but not yet.

She beat me to it. “I suppose you’re going to ask if I killed him and then ran off. I know you’ve said that to his stepmom. Mandy called to cry on my shoulder.”

Interesting. I apparently hadn’t been as subtle as I’d hoped in my query about whether Mandy or Shellie had ever visited HotRescues. Plus, Mandy had said she hated Shellie. So why had she called her immediately?

I’d also not accused Shellie . . . yet. Apparently Mandy told her I had.

“You’ve even blamed Efram’s lawyer,” Shellie continued. “James Remseyer called, too, and warned me that you’re out there making unfounded accusations.”

So they’d both contacted Shellie. Were they all conspirators protecting one another—and framing me?

I was allowed some degree of paranoia. I was, after all, an utterly innocent murder suspect.

How should I play the rest of this conversation to take control of it? I decided on honesty . . . somewhat. “What I’m trying to do, Shellie, is to find out what really happened. I’d like to meet with you, tomorrow or the next day. I’ll tell you my side of things, you tell me yours. Neither of us will accuse the other. Maybe we can even become allies in finding out who killed Efram.”

“But you hated him!” She shrieked into my ear, and I yanked the phone away. Keep cool, I told myself. Did I really expect her to become an ally? No. But I might learn something useful if we did chat somewhere, in neutral territory.

I took a slow breath to maintain my patience, then said, “I didn’t like what Efram did to animals, Shellie. If you’ve watched the stuff on TV, you’re aware that he was at that puppy mill. He may have told you about the disagreement he had with HotRescues and me, about his dog, Killer. Right?”

“You stole Killer.” The accusation shot coldly in my direction.

“I helped to find the dog—his name is Quincy now—a new home. I didn’t know who his owner was when he was brought here, but he’d clearly been abused. If I’d found his owner then, I’d have turned him over to the authorities for prosecution, but things didn’t work that way. Instead, Efram threatened to sue, and we worked out a compromise that was supposed to teach him how to treat animals better. Apparently, it didn’t take.”

“That’s your story.”

Too bad the young woman wasn’t here so I could shake some sense into her. Or maybe it was just as well. If I laid a hand, or even a glare, on her, she’d scream to the world that I killed Efram.

But maybe I’d have a better sense of her innocence or guilt.

“Yes,” I said, “it is. So—can we get together to sound each other out?”

“No,” she said. The next thing I heard was a beep that told me she’d hung up.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to start breathing normally again. Tension had turned my respiration shallow, and I felt almost light-headed.

I also felt like I wanted to cry. Talking to three potential murder suspects who wanted me to take the rap for Efram’s killing, all in one day?

I liked to think I was a calm, sane, rational person. Not prone to crying jags. But for this moment, I wanted to break down.

No. What I wanted was to find the truth. No matter what it took.

For now, I squared my shoulders. It was time, at last, to go see my beloved charges outside in the shelter area.

“Soon,” I told her.

“I had Ricki and some of the others working on the Princess adoption. Everything checked out.”

“Great! I’ll call tomorrow to get things finalized.” Most of the time, adoptions we approved took days, or even weeks. Our last few had been surprisingly easy and fast, thanks to my current flock of diligent assistants. “Meantime, have a good evening.”

“You, too.” She studied me with her usual worried frown, and I made myself smile to counter it.

“Are you volunteering at a city shelter tonight?”

“Absolutely,” she said.

A minute more, and I was outside. Some of the dogs were barking. Surprise!

I almost laughed as I greeted each by name, despite how choked up I felt. And then I realized what I truly needed. Hugs.

First, though, I headed into the center building and looked in on the cats and the rest of our animals. I didn’t see Pete or any volunteers. They must be back in the shed, grabbing food—a good thing. I went back out, sneaked around the corner to one of the side paths, and opened Babydoll’s enclosure. The shepherd mix stood on her hind legs, greeting me enthusiastically. I bent, braced myself, and threw my arms around her, basking in the doggy kisses she rained on my face.

I actually laughed. The first time that day, and maybe for many days before.

Jazzed, I gave her one final hug for that moment, then went out to engage in similar affection with a couple of the other dogs who’d been there awhile, including Honey, the Westie mix. Good for them, and especially good for me.

I took my time but eventually headed back toward the main building. Pete Engersoll caught up with me.

“All the animals have been fed,” he said. “Our last volunteer of the day just left, too. Okay for me to leave?”

“Sure,” I told him.

“You look happy,” he accused.

“I am,” I said. In case he doubted me, I gave him a big hug, too.

He looked startled but hugged me back. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m great,” I told him. For a murder suspect.

I watched him head toward the exit near the back shed, then returned to the main building. And was startled to hear a knocking on the opposite door, the one visitors entered through. My heart beat a heavy cadence as I approached. It couldn’t be the killer. Whoever it was would hardly announce him—or her—self that way.

The cops? Was I about to be arrested?

“Who’s there?” I called out, trying to sound confident and in charge.

I’d been right about one thing. The person outside was one of the authorities.

“It’s Matt Kingston, Lauren. May I come in?”