She had been owned by a senior citizen who’d passed away without making arrangements for her. When she was brought into one of the city shelters, Matt, who knew my partiality for Border collies and Australian shepherds, had given me a first right of refusal to adopt her.

I hadn’t been able to resist.

I admitted to myself, though, that my mind wasn’t fully centered on my pup, or on the bright and warm June day in the San Fernando Valley.

I couldn’t help thinking about my impending visit to Mamie. What did she want to talk about? Would she confess to me that she had murdered Bethany?

Zoey and I took one of our longer routes around several blocks, then went home. There, since it was late enough for me not to feel bad if I woke my kids, I called first Tracy, then Kevin, just to see how they were doing. Both were already awake and even sounded pleased to hear from their worrywart mom.

I had intended not to mention to either of them that I knew another murder victim—or a probable suspect. They’d been through enough when I’d been a suspect myself.

Even so, Tracy said, “I heard that someone involved with that pet hoarding situation was murdered, Mom. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” I said with no elaboration, “I did.”

Same went for Kevin, who’d spoken with his sister and knew about the murder. He sounded even more concerned. “You aren’t connected with that, are you?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said, “although I’d met both the person accused of hoarding and the lady who was killed.” No need to worry him. My involvement in this case was definitely a lot less than when I was accused of murder.

After I’d hung up with Kevin, Zoey and I drove to HotRescues. Brooke was still there, but since our regular Sunday staff had begun to arrive, she and Cheyenne were preparing to leave. Zoey and I caught up with them as they made their final walk through the shelter area.

“Everything okay here last night?” I asked, stopping as always to slip inside and pat our nearest well-behaved canine residents before going on to the next enclosures.

Brooke, who also chucked one quiet dog then the next under the chin, looked a little tired—her eyes dull, and her attractive features drawn. That concerned me. Was her health situation acting up again? She’d looked great last night, though.

“Fine.” She gave Junior a final pat and moved on. “No noises at all. I did my couple of rounds and all our animals were just fine.”

“Then it’s time for you to go home and get some real rest,” I said firmly, then added, “Please let me know, though, if you get a chance to do any checking on the Bethany Urber situation.”

“Already have.” Her expression perked up. “Lost a little sleep over it—nice long talk with Antonio—but it was worth it.” The smug smile that told me volumes about her relationship with the cop was back. It also partly explained how tired she looked. “Here’s what I’ve learned so far.”

As we continued to walk, she filled me in. “The investigation is ongoing, but the detectives on the case feel pretty sure that they’re zeroing in on the right suspect. The autopsy’s not complete, but the cause of death appeared obvious: two gunshot wounds to the chest. The weapon was likely the one Mamie was holding and handed over to the first patrol officer on the scene. No threat there—she wasn’t in danger of being shot. Of course her fingerprints were on the gun but there were others, too, which were smeared and could be Bethany’s—or not. Mamie has been very cooperative, including telling the investigating detectives how she had despised Bethany.”

“What!” I exclaimed. “Even with her lawyer present?”

“I don’t know when she said it, and that’s all I’ve got so far. More to come, I hope. This seems like an interesting case, especially if your friend Mamie is innocent. The physical evidence includes the gun, and it belonged to Bethany. I’ve gathered that, per the interviews conducted so far, she let her nearest and dearest friends know she had one, though not where she kept it. Apparently, she knew she rubbed people the wrong way at times and figured she’d scare them off from retaliating.”

“Didn’t work this time,” I observed.

“Right. One more thing: Bethany apparently insisted that all Pet Shelters Together members wear a little pin she designed. One of them was found in her blood—not her pin, though, since she’d gotten one with diamonds in it.”

“Whose is it?”

“The cops are still checking into that. Mamie didn’t own a pin, since she didn’t join the group, so that’s something that’s keeping her from being arrested.”

“Good,” I said. “At least there’s one indicator that she could be innocent.”

We’d stopped near the back entrance to the center building, and Brooke regarded me shrewdly. “You really think she is innocent, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know her well now. But . . . well, though she obviously still loves animals, she was abusing them, intentionally or not. As far as killing a person? I hate to think so, but I really don’t know.” Mamie had considered Bethany a threat, but I’d, in fact, been the one to do what Bethany had threatened her with: tell the authorities about her hoarding. If she was going to murder anyone, wouldn’t I have been a better subject?

I didn’t tell Brooke that, though.

“Well, if you’re going to visit her—” She looked at me inquisitively, and I nodded. “Be sure to see if you can get anything out of her about who she thinks could have killed Bethany.”

“If it wasn’t her,” I said.

“If it wasn’t her,” Brooke agreed.

Assuming Mamie even faced legal action now for what she had done to the pets in her care. Maybe she would only be prosecuted for murder.

At least she apparently hadn’t started collecting animals again. I’d warned her against it, but that was a frequent occurrence with hoarders anyway. I’d double-check inside her house, though. I’d already planned to visit her now and then to make sure—but I hadn’t anticipated there’d be an additional reason, like a murder, to bring me here.

She must have been watching for me, since, once again, she appeared right away, hurrying out the front door to her shabby house. “Lauren! You came!” She dashed toward me and threw herself into my arms.

She seemed even smaller, frailer, than the last time I’d seen her, which was only yesterday.

“Please, come in.” She stepped back. “I’ve boiled more water for tea. Is that okay?”

“Sounds wonderful,” I lied politely. I followed her into the gleaming kitchen. The place smelled of disinfectant instead of poop. Heaven! And no animals begged for attention. In fact, I’d seen none . . . so far.

Mamie had again set two places at the gouged table in the middle of the kitchen, both with chipped tea cups in a floral pattern and mismatched stainless spoons. Everything appeared clean this time. Mamie waved toward the half-full box of tea bags that sat in between. “Please, help yourself.” A kettle steamed on the battered gas stove, and she picked it up. I put a tea bag into my cup, and she poured water over it, then into her own, which already contained a tea bag. After returning the kettle to the stove, she sat across from me. Her smile was brittle, and her eyes looked both terrified and exhausted.

She said nothing, though, so I decided to prompt her. There were two topics I wanted to cover, and I started with the one most important to me.

“Mamie, has anyone talked to you about what happens to your animals now?” They were, in fact, hers—and that was part of the problem, as Matt had explained it to me.

She nodded solemnly. “The lawyer Janice found for me—Mr. Caramon—he’s really nice. He said we could protest how they’d stolen my friends from me, but . . . well, he didn’t think we’d win. He also said they could start charging me a lot of money for taking care of my babies, or I could give them up.” Her eyes welled, and I reached over to squeeze her hand.

“I understand how hard that is, but they’ll have better lives if you surrender them, Mamie. I’ll make sure that they’re either rehomed by Animal Services right away, or, if there’s any danger to them, I’ve contacted other rescuers who’ll take in any that I can’t—and I should be able to handle a bunch.” I paused until she looked up, and I met her gaze solemnly. “Please promise you’ll surrender them, Mamie.”

Tears rolled down her papery cheeks, but she nodded slowly. “If you really think that’s best for them . . .”

“I do.”

“But—”

“It really is,” I insisted firmly. “They’ll find families who’ll love them. You know that’s the right thing to do.”

She drew in her breath. Her nod was sad but resolute. “Okay, Lauren. I’ll do it. I’ll let Mr. Caramon know.”

“You’re the greatest!” I went around and gave her a big hug. I’d let Matt know, too, so he could follow up on it.

Mamie still looked dubious as I sat back down. It was time for the next subject. “Tell me how things went at the police station. You said your attorney was with you there, right?”

She nodded, and her red curls wafted around her lined face. “Mr. Caramon is a very nice man. He told me to tell the truth, since he knows I didn’t kill Bethany.”

“I don’t want to interfere in any way with whatever Mr. Caramon told you,” I said, “but can you tell me why you were at Bethany’s so early in the morning?”

Her eyes welled up, and she took a sip of tea. “I couldn’t sleep. I missed my animals so much . . . I knew that Bethany lives—lived—at her own shelter, so I doubted she’d be sleeping too late and I decided to go talk to her. See, your place, HotRescues, is so far away, or I’d have asked you. I don’t drive the freeways much these days. Too much traffic. My car is still at Bethany’s, I think. Or maybe the police took it.”

“You’d have asked me what?” I felt utterly confused.

“I went to see Bethany to apologize for yelling at her during her meeting. I meant it, of course, but I wanted to work there, even volunteer, to be near animals again. I know she thought me a hoarder, and so did you.” She dipped her head, and I had to strain to hear her. “It wasn’t . . . Well, maybe you were right, but I never meant to hurt . . . Anyway, as hard as it would be, I was even willing to let Bethany supervise me, tell me what to do, as long as I could help rescue pets again.”

“I see.” My voice was subdued. I did see. Mamie wouldn’t quite admit to herself that she was a hoarder. Even so, she was willing even to beg the person who’d threatened her with disclosure in the first place, if only she could be around animals.

Unless she was a really good liar, and claiming she’d gone there to beg was part of her act.

“What was Bethany’s response?” I asked.

“That’s the point. When I got there, no one answered the buzzer, but the gate wasn’t locked. The animals heard me come in—some dogs barked, and they sounded very upset. I didn’t want to go see them without talking to Bethany first, observing whatever rules she wanted. I thought that would show how sincere I was. But she didn’t answer the doorbell, and the house was open, too. I just went inside and called out to her. She didn’t answer, but I thought I heard something, so I kept calling her name. I went upstairs, found her bedroom . . . and found her.” Mamie inhaled sharply. “It was so awful. Blood everywhere. A gun on the floor. I didn’t know what to do. That’s when I called you.”

She sounded sincere. Her story even appeared logical. Maybe that was another reason she hadn’t been arrested, at least not yet. The cops might need more evidence than her presence to get her convicted of murdering Bethany.

Even though she had all the elements I heard of in crimescene TV shows: motive, means, and opportunity. I’d even discussed them with the detective who had been investigating me as a potential murderer. This time, though, the means . . .

“The gun, Mamie—where was it?”

“On the floor, near Bethany.”

“Had you ever seen it before?”

“Well, yes. Bethany waved it at me when we were arguing before. I heard that she did that a lot.”

Interesting. So there could be others who knew about it. “Did you touch the gun when you saw it near Bethany?”

“Yes, to look at it, and to hand it to the police.” Was she really that naïve? She must have realized how dumb that sounded, since she added, “I wouldn’t know how to shoot a gun even if I wanted to, Lauren. If I’d decided to kill Bethany, I’d have figured something else out.”

Maybe. But it was time to move on.

“So . . . do you have any ideas who might have wanted to kill Bethany?” I asked.

“Who else, you mean?” I felt my eyes widen. “I know you still think it could be me, Lauren. But it wasn’t, damn it. And, yes, I do have some other ideas. I told the detective that, too. But—” The anger in her voice suddenly tapered off. “But I’m afraid it’s no use.”

“What do you mean?” I asked gently. Despite all my doubts, I realized that I had started to believe her.

“He pretended to listen to my ideas, and Mr. Caramon encouraged me to make suggestions. But I think the cops have already decided they know who did it, no matter what I say, and they’re just taking their time so they can get whatever evidence they can make up to prove it.”

“They think it’s—”

“Me, Lauren. They seem sure that it was me.”