I never second-guess myself. Once I make a decision, I stick with it. Even so, I kept asking myself, over and over, if I was just wasting time by trying to help Mamie. What if she really was guilty?

Ah, but what if she was innocent?

At least the animals she’d been hoarding were still doing amazingly well. The one call I’d made after I got home was to Matt. I told him that Mamie had agreed to surrender them, and he sounded as jazzed as I felt. Plus, he’d mentioned their continued improvement. They would soon be out of quarantine. Some might be available for possible adoption as soon as Mamie’s surrender became effective.

The next morning, Zoey and I headed to HotRescues early. When we arrived and I parked, I opened the back door to unhook Zoey from her harness and attach her to a leash. Usually, she trots proudly to the door into the welcome area, as if she runs the place. As my new best friend and companion, in some ways, she does.

Today, though, she sat down and made a small growling sound in her throat, putting her nose in the air for a sniff. Then she dashed off toward the far end of the parking lot.

Fortunately, I had a good grip on her leash. I could have ordered her to stop. Being the excellent dog she is, she would probably have obeyed. Though we hadn’t been together long, I knew enough about her to realize she had something important in mind. Keeping a rat off the property? Maybe, and, if so, that was a worthwhile endeavor. I suspected something even more significant, though.

Zoey pulled me past where the large shelter van was parked, toward the back of the lot, which was shielded from the alley behind HotRescues by a wooden fence. It was more for a semblance of privacy from the commercial buildings on the far side than for security, since the parking lot wasn’t enclosed. Zoey tugged until we went around the fence. I had to slow her down as a vehicle turned into the alley—Pete Engersol’s minivan. Our handyman, who also helped to pick up supplies, had a designated parking space outside the rear storage building, which was part of the enclosed and secure area within HotRescues.

But Pete didn’t pull into his spot. Instead, he stopped behind the storage building and exited his van. The thin senior citizen, in jeans and a blue HotRescues knit shirt, was a lot stronger than he looked, thanks to all the large bags of kibble he maneuvered onto carts for piling inside the building. Or, he was just naturally fit enough to heft the kibble.

“Not again!” he exclaimed as Zoey and I hurried toward him. I turned in the direction he was looking.

Right in the middle of his parking spot was a Doberman. Its leash was tied to the knob of the door into the storage building. The dog sat there, cringing as it looked at us with apparent fear. I wanted to hug him—or her. I couldn’t tell the sex yet.

“Another one?” I all but echoed Pete. Around the dog’s neck was a collar. No ID tag dangled from it, but a note was fastened to it.

“If people want to relinquish their dogs at a shelter, why don’t they have the guts to meet with you first?” Pete muttered.

“I agree.” I knew what the note would say—a sob story about how the owner couldn’t keep this dog anymore. There would be no identification, so we couldn’t check it out.

The thing was, in Los Angeles, private shelters like HotRescues could take in owner relinquishments, but not strays—not unless they’d been through the official system first and Animal Services or another public shelter had ceded them into our care.

Someone apparently knew that. I was afraid that the dogs who had been left here over the last several weeks were strays, and the person who’d found them was trying to circumvent the official system, possibly to ensure their lives would be spared.

But I worried about whether I could keep HotRescues’ license valid and take these animals in.

Yes, he was a he; I could tell when he stood up after Pete took his leash. I directed Pete to take our new friend to the quarantine area, in a special place inside the center building. It would be located in the new building next door when the construction was finished, but not yet.

Before they left, I gave the new guy a reassuring hug using just my hands around his face. I’d wash my hands before touching Zoey or any of our inhabitants here, but I couldn’t resist that sad, scared look.

“Does the note tell us his name?” I asked Pete.

“Shazam.”

I wondered whether the name was a clue about Shazam’s origins. If I recalled correctly, that was the magic word used by a comic book character to transform himself into a superhero, or something like that.

But if this Shazam was magical, he probably wouldn’t have wound up abandoned at a shelter, even one as great as HotRescues. At least things would improve for him now. He could count on it.

I called Carlie’s veterinary clinic and set up an appointment to bring Shazam in.

Not only did they have a time slot available in an hour, but Carlie herself would do the honors.

I’d had him checked for a microchip, too, to no avail. Whether he was a relinquishment or stray, we had no way of finding Shazam’s prior human.

The good news was that he appeared to be just a year old and mostly physically fit, and soon should be adoptable. As long as I manipulated the situation right.

I was good at manipulating situations. I knew what to try with this one—since it had suddenly become commonplace.

I was in my office now, with Zoey lying at my feet. I’d left her with Nina, and she’d acted glad to see me on my return—as always when I’d been away from her for a while.

Bev—here today, too—had taken Shazam back into quarantine, where he would remain for a week to ten days as a matter of policy. I’d been a little concerned whether Bev, even more senior a citizen than Pete, would be able to handle the Dobie, but from the moment we had found him here he had been as docile as a smaller dog with a breed reputation for being submissive. Which suggested he had been well trained, wherever he had come from.

Now, it was time for that manipulation. I called Matt. I’d called him before, when the other two dogs had been found in the early morning hours at the HotRescues doorstep. I felt I could ask him for quasi-official advice without putting too much stress on our growing friendship . . . or whatever it was.

The first time this had happened, the pup, a combo of small breeds I hadn’t been able to decipher, had come with no indication of an owner relinquishment. I’d called Matt then, too. He’d asked me to have someone drop off that dog at the nearest Animal Services facility, the West Valley Care Center, and I had—with my standing request to let me take him back if no one adopted him soon. He was a cutie, and I’d heard that he’d found a new forever home quickly. As long as the adoption stuck, that had worked out fine.

The second dog to appear had looked more senior, a black Lab mix with gray hair around his muzzle. He had come with a note that claimed his owner had dropped him off, unable to care for him anymore. Of course I was suspicious. Why not bring him in when HotRescues was open—so I could try to convince the owner otherwise if it was a genuine relinquishment? As enticement, we could provide food and counsel and limited veterinary care. But despite our few cameras outside and our overnight security personnel, the person who’d left Abel—the name on the note—remained a mystery.

When I’d called Matt and explained the situation, he was generous enough—and an animal lover enough—to say it was okay to treat Abel as an owner relinquishment. Not that there was anything wrong with entering a healthy animal into the public system—as long as there was enough room to let them stay till adopted. But an older dog like Abel might be harder to place. Matt got that, and we got Abel. He was still with us, and he was a love.

Now Matt and I discussed Shazam.

“You’re sure he came with a note like the last one?” I didn’t blame Matt for sounding skeptical. If I were him, I might think that the administrator of a private rescue organization might make something like this up, to avoid having to put a stray through the Animal Services system. Would I do such a thing? Not if I thought he might find out. And I’d believed he’d come to trust me over the last few months.

“You doubt my word?” I poured all the ice I could into my tone.

“No. You know I trust you, Lauren. You’re one excellent animal rescuer. But you have to admit it sounds a bit suspicious.”

I warmed a bit. “Thanks, and yes. So . . . ?”

“Let me ponder this—including what to do if it happens again. Tell you what. Why don’t you meet me at the Northeast Valley Animal Care Center? Since it has more room, the hoarded animals were all just moved there, in case we do wind up having to hold on to them for a while as evidence.” In other words, if Mamie didn’t follow through on surrendering them, no matter what she had told me. “I’ll fix it so I can bring you up to date on how well our latest guests are getting along. Even let you visit some.”

I loved the idea! Still . . . “Can I meet some friends there, too? Other private rescuers, I mean. A bunch keep e-mailing me about the hoarding situation, since I let them know about it on a Web site where we communicate, and they always express concern about the rescued animals.” Some had also quizzed me about Bethany’s murder and Mamie’s possible involvement, but I’d been selective about what questions to answer.

“Sure,” he said, “as long as you and I get an opportunity to talk about . . . what’s his name?”

“Shazam.”

“Abracadabra, too,” Matt responded.

I said hi to our volunteers who were walking some of our dogs—and cleaning their enclosures. I also posted a notice on the Southern California Rescuers Web site. There, I let the administrators of other private shelters who monitored it know that, if they could get away quickly enough, we had an invitation to visit some animals who’d been the subject of the hoarding. I explained that it was too early to pick any up to take back to our shelters, but I was hopeful that the day would come soon.

I doubted many rescuers would see the post, and even fewer would be able to make it on such short notice.

Eventually, I got in my Venza, once again leaving Zoey behind, since she wouldn’t be welcome at a city shelter.

Besides, I planned to stop at Gavin Mamo’s animal training facility later, to meet with him as scheduled during our phone call the previous week.

I called Matt on my hands-free system while on my way. He was already there.

I parked in the lot, which was more crowded than usual. This care center was not open to the public, due to lack of funding, but Animal Services people worked here and took care of animals that were housed in this shelter for reasons such as being evidence in possible animal cruelty prosecutions.

I walked up the path, glancing up at the poles holding pictures of dogs and cats. The building wasn’t open, and I noticed some familiar people on the patio, including friends who also ran private shelters. They hurried over to me.

My notice posted on the Web site had had more reach than I’d anticipated, a potentially good thing. In the event the official shelter didn’t have room for all the rescued animals, the more private facilities interested in taking some in, the more that could be saved.

“Hi,” I said to Kathy Georgio, the first to reach my side.

“This is so great, Lauren!” Kathy was a fiftyish lady who had a pudgy face bisected by a huge smile. I had seen her last at the meeting about hoarders that Bethany had held. Today, she wore jeans that were too tight on her zaftig body, and a T-shirt that seemed an equally bad fit. But her looks weren’t important. How she treated her charges was, and from all I’d gathered, she was one of the better rescuers in the area—besides me, of course.

Another Southern California Rescuers regular was there as well. Ilona Graye, whose rescue organization mostly placed animals with fosterers, had come, too. She was a youthful secretary at a small Valley law firm that specialized in entertainment law, so she occasionally got celebs to take in pets she had saved.

I noticed then that some of the people I’d met at Bethany Urber’s hoarding seminar were there, too—a group of six people, including Cricket and Darya. Interesting, that they were at least lurkers on the Southern California Rescuers Web site. But I’d learned that Bethany had been, too. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think she had encouraged the members of the Pet Shelters Together to follow her lead.

As I said hi to them, I noticed Matt inside the building, dressed in his Animal Services uniform. He opened the door. “Ready to visit some formerly hoarded rescuees?” he asked.

“Absolutely!” I smiled at him warmly, then said to the rest, “This is Captain Matt Kingston of L.A. Animal Services. He’s the head of SmART, D.A.R.T, and Emergency Preparedness.” I didn’t think I needed to translate to this group of pet rescuers that SmART stood for Small Animal Rescue Team and D.A.R.T. was short for Department Air Rescue Team. “Even more important right now, he’s supportive of our private facilities’ ability to take in any of the hoarded animals that Animal Services can’t care for.”

A cheer went up from the crowd, eliciting a sweetly bashful grin from the subject of their applause. Matt wasn’t the kind of guy I’d consider to be shy—not with all his muscles and his no-nonsense leadership skills. I thought his reaction was pretty adorable.

He led us inside the shelter area of the center. “The cats are inside,” Matt said, “and most of these dogs came from that Beach Rescue facility.”

All the pups clamored for well-deserved attention. At least here, the conditions weren’t as crowded as they’d been at the West L.A. center, since this was a nearly empty facility. Once we were given the go-ahead, the private shelter administrators, including me, should be able to save every one of these dogs.

Once more, I thought I recognized some of them—a Great Dane mix, a couple of bulldogs, and—yes, that terrier mix had to be Herman, the dog Mamie had claimed was her own.

“Whenever these animals are ready for private shelters to take them in, I’d like dibs on that one,” I told Matt, pointing at Herman. His dark brows rose in a quizzical expression. “I think he’s Mamie’s special pet,” I explained.

“I’ll do what I can.”

My shelter administrator posse members seemed every bit as taken with the dogs here as I was, talking baby talk to them and reaching in to pat them.

“How about the cats?” Kathy Georgio asked. She sometimes signed her e-mails and group posts as Kat, so I figured she was more partial to felines than canines. Matt soon took us to the area where cats were housed, and he pointed out the ones from Mamie’s.

Again, all looked well.

Matt’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at the display. “Sorry, got to take this. I’ll be back shortly.”

I decided I could use the opportunity to take the two women aside I was sure had known Bethany and ask a few helpful questions. “Would you mind coming with me for a minute?” I asked Cricket and Darya. “I’ve got some questions about Pet Shelters Together.” Not exactly, but I figured that would at least spark their attention.

Leaving the other shelter administrators oohing and aahing over the kitties, I walked out of the feline neighborhood and into a canine area.

“Are you interested in having HotRescues join Pet Shelters Together?” Cricket asked right away. “I’m in charge now that poor Bethany isn’t around, at least until the board of directors tells me otherwise . . . and I think they’ll want me to stay.”

“You do have a lot of experience,” Darya confirmed. “I’ll bet you’ll do as good a job as Bethany. Maybe even better.”

Cricket flushed slightly and bobbed her head so that her short, curly hair waved a little. “No one could be as good as Bethany,” she said modestly.

“Of course,” Darya agreed. “But she was your mentor, wasn’t she? That’s what she used to say when I helped out by working around the office there now and then. She was so proud of you.”

This could go off into a love-fest for Bethany instead of the direction I wanted to aim. “I’m sure you’ll both miss her,” I said. “The rest of the people at Better Than Any Pet Rescues and Pet Shelters Together—and the animals will, too. Everyone but . . . well, there’s no delicate way to say this. There’s a good possibility that Mamie will be arrested for killing Bethany, and maybe she did it. But I’d really love your opinions about anyone else who might have committed the crime, just so I can feel sure that the real guilty party is found. Like Bethany was your friend, Mamie is mine.” To some extent, at least. “If she did it, then that’s that. But if it isn’t her, who would you bet on?”

They both stared at me as if I was nuts. Cricket was shorter than me and heavier, and her grayish eyes narrowed in disbelief. Darya was tall and thin, and looked as if she could blow away in a puff of doggy breath. Her brown eyes looked equally incredulous.

“I’m sorry she’s your friend, Lauren,” Cricket said. “But she has to be guilty.”

“That’s right,” Darya agreed.

“Just humor me. If Mamie had been having drinks with the cops that night, or had another perfect alibi, who would you think might have had it in for Bethany?” I looked expectantly at Cricket first.

“Well, she’d been married twice,” she said reluctantly. “She always talked about her exes like they’re dirt. She said they hated that they hadn’t had an opportunity to participate in all her wonderful success. But—”

“Great!” I interrupted. “Anyone else?” I asked Darya. “Like, was Bethany married now?”

“No,” Darya said. “She has—had—a boyfriend. A really cute one. I’d seen him at a meeting of Pet Shelters Together. He’s younger than she was.”

“And did they always get along?”

“I’m not sure,” Darya said. “I only just joined Pet Shelters Together, and I didn’t know either Bethany or—what’s his name? Miguel, I think. Miguel Rohrig—very well.”

I looked at Cricket. “You spent some time around Better Than Any Pet Rescues, I assume. Did you know Miguel? How were Bethany and he getting along?”

She bit her narrow lips grimly. “She wanted him to spend more time helping out at the shelter. He’s an actor, and it wasn’t like he was busy with any movie or TV roles lately. But he’s a nice guy. He’d never have hurt Bethany.”

Maybe not. But I now had three people I could look at as possible murder suspects.