With the help of my excellent staff and volunteers, plus a hint to that obnoxious reporter Corina Carey, I’d gotten out the word about the HotRescues pet adoption fair in memory of Efram Kiley—and worded it with the tact of a politician up for reelection, without rubbing his dead face in the fact he had been involved with a horrendous puppy mill.

No, I wasn’t the world’s most despicable hypocrite. I was using Efram for my own purposes, just as he had abused animals for his. My intent was to get each of the people I suspected of his murder to appear, to at least feign grieving, and hopefully to say something that revealed the truth and exposed him or her as the killer.

I’d gotten all required permission to hold the event in O’Melveny Park, one of the largest in LA, which happened to be in Granada Hills not far from HotRescues. My team and I had brought a dozen dogs and nearly as many cats, mostly in crates. They included Honey, since the people who’d expressed interest in adopting her hadn’t yet followed through, poor baby. Or maybe it was just as well, if those folks were so unreliable.

The animals we’d carted here also included Sweety and Missy, from Efram’s puppy mill. They were just exiting quarantine and doing amazingly well, thanks to Carlie and lots of TLC at her veterinary clinic and HotRescues. Soon, they’d be ready to rehome. It didn’t hurt to display them to potential new owners now.

Naturally, the dogs didn’t stay in crates. We’d constructed holding areas surrounded by portable fencing, so a few pups were loose inside—the better to put their noses to the barrier and look wistful enough to attract possible adopters. Plus, our volunteers displayed them, one at a time, by taking them for walks through this area of the park, like models flaunting their assets on a runway.

I intended to go on some of those walks—later. Right now, I sat at a shaded table nearest the parking area, the better to see who joined us, at least from the area most likely to entice visitors. Fortunately, all my wounds had healed well enough by now that I barely felt them.

Nina was beside me. We’d brought along plenty of applications for people who were interested in adopting. Plus brochures that would tell them about HotRescues, our achievements, and our goals. We also had some bags containing pet food samples and other goodies from—where else?—HotPets.

We had called on a lot of our regular volunteers to join us, so they could ask our standard questions of potential adopters. I still needed to personally approve each adoption. Although it happened sometimes at our pet fairs, none would be finalized that day. But we often had success in getting people to become excited about animals they met at this kind of event and start the adoption process.

“This is such a good idea, Lauren.” Nina’s pleasure was contagious. Or maybe I just felt really proud of myself, killing two or more birds with one of this park’s stones. With luck, some of our residents would find new forever homes, thanks to this event.

And with even more luck, I’d get myself off the hook as a suspect in Efram’s murder.

“Thanks,” I said to Nina. “I just hope we’re really successful.” In all ways.

I decided to practice my intended routine on Nina. I did, after all, still maintain a page on her in my suspect file. Even though she was one of those I wanted in the worst way not to be guilty.

“I hope it’s not too tacky making this a memorial for Efram,” I said. I hadn’t expressly discussed it with my second in command before. I’d just told her that this was what I intended to do, then expressed my desire for her to help with it. “But my hope is that it’ll show what he himself never seemed to grasp: pets need to be taken care of, not harmed, and not left in shelters without someone to love them.”

“That’s what I thought you meant.” Nina’s face looked as bright and enthusiastic as I’d ever seen her. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a clip, emphasizing the leanness of her cheeks. Her curviness filled out her HotRescues T-shirt. I’d wondered often if she ever considered dating again. Despite my recent moments with Matt, I rarely did, and my miserable excuse for an ex-husband hadn’t abused me.

“I’ve thought long and hard about who could have killed him,” I continued. “Of course murder’s a heinous thing, especially since whoever did it is apparently willing to let me take the rap. But I can certainly understand why someone was angry enough with a man like him to wish him harm, don’t you?”

She looked at me with a defeated expression that suggested she thought I was about to accuse her. Which I wasn’t . . . directly.

“You know I do,” she said quietly. “I hated him because of what he did to animals, and because he threatened me for telling you about the puppy mill rescue. I wasn’t as sad as I should have been about what happened to him. But . . . I couldn’t have done it, even if I’d wished I could.”

“Of course,” I said.

An older couple approached our table, which sent a wave of ambivalence through me. This conversation was over, at least for now. And although I realized that Nina could be lying, I didn’t think so. I’d learned enough about her over the year she’d been working for me to get a sense of when she was fudging the truth.

I sent her off with the couple, who seemed emotionally overwhelmed about seeing so many homeless animals here. I had the impression they’d never visited a shelter. Did they want a pet? Maybe they would now, even if they hadn’t considered one before.

The area was crowded now with people who didn’t stay on any paths but approached the dog enclosures and cat crates with oohs and aahs I could hear from far away. Surely some of them would fall immediately and madly in love—hopefully good people who’d pass our adoption scrutiny. At least the weather was on our side, which it usually was in LA. Not too hot and not too cold; just right for attracting people to stroll around and, hopefully, fall for the pets of their dreams.

Our animal shrink, Dr. Mona Harvey, was there, flitting from one enclosure to the next. I was able to chat with her along with our vet tech, Angie Shayde, giving them similar spiels to what I’d talked with Nina about. They hadn’t liked Efram—or at least what he’d done—any better than I had. Admit here to killing him? Not quite.

I saw Captain Matt Kingston approaching from the side of our festival. He was another person I’d intended to sound out about how he felt about a memorial for Efram—and whether he could have been involved in the event that generated it.

He, even more than Nina, seemed to have no alibi for the night Efram was killed, or for the ensuing dangerous situations at HotRescues. He clearly had despised Efram as much as I had. But kill him?

Well, someone had, and the thing I was surest of was that it wasn’t me.

Matt had come in his official Animal Services uniform—khaki shirt, green slacks, and jacket with appropriate badge and patch.

He stopped long before he got to me and knelt outside one of the fenced-in areas. I stood. As I’d thought, that was the place that the animals from the puppy mill were now enclosed. I guessed he was doing his official duty and making sure they were well cared for.

Motioning to Bev, who’d just finished walking a sheltie mix, to take my place at the table, I headed toward Matt. He was still on his knees, his hand inside the enclosure where Missy and Sweety vied to sniff it. He turned his too sexy grin from them toward me.

“Glad you could make it,” I told him. “There’s been some interest in adopting those guys, but it’s too soon. I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”

“Great.” He stood to face me. I’d noticed before how much taller than me he was, but he now seemed to marshal his height and stare down. “What’s this really about, Lauren? A memorial for a guy you despised?”

“It’s intended to send a message,” I said coolly. “That even if he couldn’t be rehabilitated while alive, at least there can be happy endings for some of the animals he abused. You know HotRescues would love to take in more of the moms, dads, or pups that were saved from the puppy mill, when Animal Services is ready for them to leave.”

“Right.” Matt cocked his head slightly, watching as if attempting to read what was actually inside my brain.

I could give him a hint . . . “Don’t you think that might be what the person who killed him intended? I mean, to teach not only him, but others who abused animals a lesson.” My turn to scrutinize him for a reaction.

“Sounds like a stretch,” he said. “But even so, I hope you’re successful here today.”

Me, too, I thought—in both of my endeavors.

Matt’s attitude and words had neither made him more of a suspect or less. I still had to mistrust him, for reasons including the Animal Services paperwork found near the back entrance on the day the pit bull had mysteriously appeared, but I didn’t really want to.

A tall, thin guy in shorts and sleeveless T-shirt jogged up to us. His dog, too—a leashed and panting Border collie. “Hi,” the guy said, addressing Matt. “What’s going on here?”

Matt quickly explained the adoption event while I bent and petted his companion. She looked up at me, and I smiled back. This obviously was a loved dog, and I sensed she understood how much better she had it than her enclosed cohorts around here.

As the two loped off, I watched, then realized Matt was watching me. “Cute,” I said. “And smart.”

“Border collie,” he responded. I nodded, hoping my wistfulness didn’t show. There was something about that kind of dog that spoke to me without saying a word. If ever I were to adopt a dog again myself . . . but not now.

Matt began to walk away, glancing back as if he assumed I would follow. I didn’t—mostly because I’d just spotted another of the people I’d hoped would be here that day, Ed Bransom of EverySecurity. He didn’t look as if he was there in any official role for his company, since he wore an LA Dodgers T-shirt over jeans. Since I’d seen him most often in his dark green uniform, I was a little surprised to see that he had well-toned muscles. I supposed that made sense for someone who was in the business of keeping customers safe.

It also moved him higher in my suspect assessment. The knife that had killed Efram was sharp, but even so, the person who’d wielded it needed strength behind it. Plus, it had taken some strength to move those pet food bags around for the Honey incident.

Whatever his reason for being there, it apparently wasn’t because he intended to adopt a pet. Nor had I called him to help with any security here.

“Hello, Lauren,” he said. “What the hell is going on? I’ve heard from our main office that Dante DeFrancisco is considering other security companies for HotPets and your little shelter. Is that your doing?”

Yes, I’d finally had a conversation with Dante. Despite his long-term friendship with the EverySecurity CEO, he’d promised to consider alternatives . . . under the circumstances.

“I think it’s a wise course of action,” I told him. “You seem to have the idea that everything your company should have prevented at HotRescues was my doing. It wasn’t. A parting of the ways is more than appropriate.”

I still hadn’t heard a viable explanation or excuse for the slipup in the Honey matter—except to blame me. Plus, Bransom also blamed me, vocally, for the unwelcome pit bull visit. Even if he was innocent of everything that had happened, he couldn’t have been surprised that I wanted his company gone. But the fact that Dante so far was on my side and was looking at other options for his entire business empire? That might have annoyed this dismal excuse for a security advisor, more than a little.

Another reason for him to become an even weightier suspect. Yet why would he have killed Efram in the first place? Just because the guy had shown up at HotRescues in the middle of the night? Bransom didn’t appear to care whether someone was abusing animals, unless he was paid to pretend to give a damn. But to protect his own butt, or his job . . . ?

He took a step toward me. Maybe I should have acted cowed and stepped back, but I didn’t. I stared him right in the eye.

“You’d better watch what you say. We’ve had this account sewed up for a long time, and you’re not going to ruin it.”

“I think that you’ve managed to do that yourself,” I said, then turned and walked away.

And practically felt the daggers from his glare piercing my back like the HotRescues feed knives.

Oh, yes, this man was one person I definitely suspected.

“Lauren, I’ve been hoping to get you over here. I want to show you my progress with Perry.”

“Perry?”

“I thought that Perry the pit bull mix would sound cute and not especially scary.”

“Got it.”

As Si bent to open the crate and leash Perry, I looked around. The park was still full of visitors. I crossed my fingers, hoping that Perry wouldn’t attack anyone else. Including me.

I noticed Matt watching from a distance. He hurried in our direction as Si brought the nearly all white dog out. I appreciated Matt’s concern. Was it for me or for everyone here, as part of his Animal Services responsibilities? Probably both. Whichever, it made me feel good.

Si noticed him, too, and glared. “Please stay back,” he said. “Everything’s under control.”

And it was. Si put Perry through an amazing array of commands, from the usual “sit” and “down” to “shake” and even “beg.”

“You did this in a week?” I said in amazement.

“He knew some of it. Whoever his owner may have been before, he’d apparently had some training. I’ve found that the more I work him out, the less aggressive he is. He’s not for a household with kids or other pets, but he’s a good candidate for adoption.”

“One more test.” I’m not usually wimpy when it comes to being around any kinds of animals, but Perry had been one nasty canine to me before. I approached him slowly, my hand out in a nonthreatening manner, but half expected him to go back into snarl and growl mode.

He didn’t. In fact, his tongue flopped out of his mouth as I petted him.

As I stepped back, I smiled at Si and gave him a brief hug—making sure that Perry didn’t take it as a threatening gesture toward his new master. “You’re fantastic!” I told Si. “Don’t you think so, Perry?”

The dog I’d feared so much previously just seemed to smile.

Patsy and Bradley looked bemused when I greeted them, then showed them the two parent dogs from their puppy mill. “We haven’t found new homes for them yet,” I told the couple I despised. “Too soon. But we will when it’s appropriate.”

Patsy again put on her act of loving them all and missing them. And blaming Efram for everything.

I again thought how convenient, since he was dead. Possibly at her hands, or her husband’s.

We were joined then by Efram’s stepmother and girlfriend, whom I’d also invited. Apparently the Shaheens knew Mandy Ledinger and Shellie Benudo. Maybe they’d met Efram’s stepmother and girlfriend at his funeral, if not before.

Smiling a lot and keeping my digs at them ambiguous, I told them my reason for holding this adoption event in Efram’s honor. Did they buy it? Maybe.

The Shaheens still seemed affronted that I would equate their actions with Efram’s supposed really bad animal abuse in throwing puppies into a storm drain. After all, they’d merely tortured dogs and their offspring by untenable conditions.

Mandy and Shellie seemed to accept the situation with more grace, although they still maintained that Efram had done nothing wrong. Holding an event like this to help counter anything he had allegedly done was insulting to his memory.

Had any of them killed him? A definite maybe, considering their respective attitudes—although they seemed more angry with me than with Efram. Could any of them have tried to cover it up by the ensuing shenanigans that had taken place at HotRescues? Yes, if Efram had demonstrated how to get in and circumvent the security, including the cameras.

But no one yet knew where Perry had come from or how he’d gotten loose on the premises. That could be the key.

Or not.

We’d had a fairly successful day, with quite a few potential rehomings—although I would definitely follow up as quickly as possible with visits to make sure the adopters were as kind and caring as they’d professed on their applications and in person. I’d also make sure they had the suitable facilities they’d described for their new pets.

I realized several things as I returned to my office and collapsed.

A few people I’d hoped to see there, including James Remseyer, Efram’s attorney, hadn’t shown up. That didn’t gain him any brownie points with me. He was still a suspect.

The other thing that I found particularly interesting—and disturbing? Well, I’d heard stories of how Dante’s lady friend, Kendra Ballantyne, the lawyer, had solved quite a few murder cases. She’d done it in odd ways, setting things up, often, to have animals she was pet-sitting involved in the resolution.

I’d done something similar today. I’d hoped for an equally good result, determining once and for all who’d murdered Efram.

But despite such a good day in so many other ways, especially for some of our former HotRescues animals, I still felt no closer to determining the killer.