He had to go home to take care of Rex. And I had to stay here and think—more than I wanted to—about where we were going with this growing relationship. If it was, in fact, a relationship. I pondered it while I lay in bed, alone, before falling asleep.

As I considered often, I’d been married twice. My dear Kerry had died when the kids were young. My second husband was a disaster. Charles Earles had no interest in my children, only in accessing my already meager bank account—to help pay for his flings with younger women. Our divorce had been a huge relief, in more ways than one.

And now there was Matt. He’d made no demands, but he’d started being there for me when I’d needed guidance regarding the official L.A. Animal Services system. Plus, he’d found the perfect rescue dog for me—Zoey.

He hung around for dinner and drinks and some fooling around that took my breath away—even though, initially, I hadn’t wanted even that, despite how tempted I’d felt. Now, I lay there in bed, wondering. I guessed it was okay. I wasn’t leading him on. As we spent more time together, I’d been honest with Matt, that as attracted as I was to him, I wasn’t looking for a deep, meaningful relationship.

I’d had that with Kerry. I know logically that there’s no loyalty required to a dead man, even my husband. Kerry would probably have wanted me to find someone to care about in his absence. And I had come to care for Matt. More each time I was with him.

But I wasn’t looking for something permanent. Not now. Not ever. Probably.

Somehow, I finally drifted off to sleep.

But Zoey didn’t pull on her leash as we walked to the side door to the main building. All was well, at least for now.

No one was in the welcome area, which wasn’t a surprise at this hour.

Zoey and I took our first walk through the shelter. Our presence caused some of the dogs to bark in greeting, and to let their unofficial pack know the area had been invaded—even though, by now, they surely recognized the scents of both Zoey and me.

We ran into Pete Engersol nearly immediately. He always arrived early and stayed late. He considered it his responsibility to make sure all our residents were well fed, and I didn’t suggest otherwise. Instead, I relied on him.

“Good morning, Lauren,” he called from the far end of the main pathway. “Everything okay with you?”

“Sure thing.” I joined him. “Is Brooke still here?”

“No, she left about the time I arrived.”

I heard a hammering noise from the adjoining property. “Sounds like the contractors are already at work.”

“Yep, I saw them, too, when I got here. The guy in charge said they’re putting finishing touches on the exterior and working on the interior today. He said they should be finished there soon and ready to take on the remodel of the center building.” He nodded toward the structure near where we stood.

“I hope so. I’ll be glad when we’re all done.” Which I knew would be soon, thanks to Dante’s paying a lot to make sure the construction would be accomplished fast and right.

“We all will,” Pete said. “Got to get back to our hungry horde now.” He hurried toward the rear storage building where all the food was kept.

I kept going around our outside enclosure area, then into the back door of the center building where Zoey and I could check in on the cats and toy dogs. Finally, we returned to my office.

My BlackBerry was ringing, and I dragged it out of my purse, which I’d shoved into a drawer. It was Mamie’s number.

“Hi, Mamie.” I sat as I answered. I watched Zoey do a circling gig on the rug beneath my desk, then lie down, obviously not interested in the conversation.

Silence for a few moments. “I just will never get used to these modern things, like you seeing my number on your phone and knowing it’s me.”

“I kind of like it,” I said lightly. “How are you doing?” Like, have you signed papers to relinquish the animals? Are the cops still questioning you? Have they said your arrest is imminent?

“I’m okay, I guess. But Mr. Caramon tells me that we have to go back to the police station. The detectives have said they want to talk to me again.”

I wanted to advise her not to say anything they could misinterpret as a confession or could otherwise use against her, but she had Mr. Caramon for that.

“Interesting,” I said. “Be sure to let me know how it goes.”

“Then you’re still trying to help me, Lauren?” Her voice had perked up into what sounded like utter relief.

“There’s not a lot I can do, Mamie. But if you have any more ideas about who could have killed Bethany and why, you be sure to tell the cops, and let me know, too.”

I’d said that before, in different iterations. But I still sometimes felt as if I was talking to a grumpy and forgetful child when I spoke with Mamie. Maybe she wasn’t as psychologically fragile as I believed . . . but she had been a hoarder, and she clearly wasn’t a normal, sane human being—assuming such creatures even existed.

“Okay,” she said.

After another pause, I asked, “Did you get the paperwork yet for giving up the animals?”

“Yes.” She sounded despondent. “It came by messenger this morning and I signed it.”

“Great!” I exclaimed. “You’re super, Mamie.” More silence. “So . . . did you call for any particular reason, or just to say hi?”

“Oh . . . There was a reason.” Her tone had become hard. “Only . . . I don’t want to talk about it now. Bye, Lauren.” She hung up.

What had that been about? Would I ever be able to read Mamie’s ephemeral moods?

All that ambivalence that had been rocking me lately once again shot through my mind. I’m not an ambivalent person. I always take a stand. And yet, helping Mamie was driving me nuts.

I wished I could drop the whole idea, but I knew myself better than that. I had taken this on as a responsibility and wouldn’t stop until I knew the truth—no matter what Mamie’s attitude was.

For now, I assumed that Brooke, after catching up on sleep, would get in touch if and when she had any information on Bethany’s exes or her last boyfriend.

Meantime, I had to do something positive toward finding Bethany’s killer—for my sake almost as much as for Mamie’s. I decided to do what I always did with problems, how I kept track of all of our rehomings and all other administrative details.

I would come up with a detailed plan—as I had not long ago when I’d been the one suspected of committing a murder. In fact, I would use that investigative plan as a model.

At that time, I’d started with an organizational chart and added information, as I’d found it, about other potential suspects. It had worked to help me clear myself.

It would also help me look into Bethany’s murder and figure out whether unpredictable Mamie was guilty . . . and, if not, who was.

I booted up my now-ancient desktop computer. We’d been friends since I helped to start HotRescues six years ago, and though I could have talked Dante into funding a newer one, I didn’t want it. I had Internet access, and I had usable word processing and accounting programs. That was enough.

I opened, then copied, the main file I’d made. I went through it and cleared out all the items relating to the other murder and its suspects. Oh, did that bring back memories. Not that I’d forgotten that really awful time. It had only been a few months ago. But now that it was over, I’d stopped focusing on it and gone on with my life.

I started the plan with a brief description of Bethany, what I knew about her and her businesses. About her officiousness that had so grated on me, and her egotistically bragging about stopping Mamie’s hoarding. I added what I recalled about her actually quite helpful program on hoarding, and Mamie’s appearance there.

Then I started subfiles on everyone whose names I remembered from that night: Mamie, of course, and Cricket and Darya and a few others. I’d get the rest from Cricket, if she decided to cooperate. If not . . .

I didn’t actually have to wait, as it turned out. I Googled Pet Shelters Together and found the Web site that had been created for Bethany’s network. It mentioned about a dozen pet rescue organizations besides Better Than Any Pet Rescues and provided links to their Web sites.

It was easy enough to find out who their respective administrators were. But on the main PST site, there were all sorts of testimonials about Bethany, attributed to each of the other administrators. Would any of them have had a reason to hurt her?

Maybe, maybe not. But even if they didn’t, each might have other suggestions about who could have hated her that much.

But before I got very far, my BlackBerry rang again. It was Matt.

“How are you today?” he asked first thing, and the sweet gruffness of his voice reminded me of last night.

“Full of happy memories,” I said.

“Which we’ll add to one of these nights soon,” he said with a laugh. “But I need to talk business with you now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing you can’t help with. Mamie’s lawyer called to say he has the signed document for her surrender of the animals. Their relinquishment will be official today. I’ve gotten word that some of the animals will be available tomorrow for private rescuers to take in.”

“Are they in immediate danger?” My tone must have reflected my concern, since Zoey sat up and put her head on my lap. I petted her distractedly as I waited for Matt’s response.

“No, but unless you hear otherwise from me, you and any others you choose should come to the Northeast Valley Animal Care Center tomorrow afternoon to pick up the first batch.”