Chapter 16
Pete and I stopped on our way back to HotRescues
at my buddy Dr. Carlie Stellan’s clinic in Northridge—The Fittest
Pet Veterinary Clinic. I’d called ahead, and Carlie, fortunately,
had been there. She’d told me, last time we’d spoken, that she
would be heading off soon to Oregon to film a segment of her Pet
Fitness show. She’d asked me for some pet shelter contacts
there, since it seemed that, in Oregon, more rescued animals got
adopted per capita than in Southern California and she wanted to
explore why.
I loved Carlie’s pink stucco veterinary building,
wrapped around a parklike setting where the vet techs could take
dogs outside for light exercise and air—those who were well enough,
and those being boarded. Inside, as always, it was bustling with
activity.
Thanks to the Internet and personal contacts, word
was out already that we had just picked up a few animals who’d been
saved from the hoarding situation last week. Both staff and
visitors made a fuss over the two pups and kitty we brought in, who
seemed a bit overwhelmed by all the attention.
We were soon shown to an examination room, and
Carlie came in a few minutes later. She wore one of her usual white
veterinary jackets, and her blond hair just skimmed its
shoulders.
“Pete, how good to see you!” she effused. The tall
man looked a little awkward as she hugged him. “And Lauren, you sly
devil. Not only do you get Animal Services to save a bunch of
animals from being hoarded, but you talk them into releasing the
babies so quickly into the hands of private rescuers.”
She knew the details of getting Mamie to relinquish
them, so she was purposely making it sound easy—and my doing. “Not
all of them,” I said solemnly. “At least not yet. But I feel
relatively sure that none will be euthanized for lack of room. I’ll
at least be called first.”
“Good girl!” My turn for a hug. Then Carlie knelt
to look at the two leashed dogs on the floor beside us. I’d lifted
the crate holding the cat onto the examination table. “Hi, fellas.”
She looked up at me. “Do they have names?”
“If so, we don’t know them. We’ll give them
temporary monikers once we get back to HotRescues.”
“Let me. This one”—she pointed to the Rottweiler
mix—“is Hale, and this one”—the unknown middle-sized pup’s turn—“is
Hearty. The cat will be Fitzwalter, a takeoff on fit, and therefore
my show. Assuming, of course, that they’re all as healthy as they
should be after being released by Animal Services.”
“That’s what we’re here to find out, but the names
are fine by me.” I looked at Pete, who nodded, too. The guy was
indispensable to HotRescues, and I always listened to his
opinions.
Carlie called in a couple of techs, who took the
animals to get them weighed. Meantime, she glanced over the
paperwork I’d brought and sent it out to have copies made. In a few
minutes, the animals were back. She noted their weights on charts
she had started, then examined them.
“I’ve looked over the results of the blood tests
and other samples taken by Animal Services,” she said when she was
done. “All looks fine to me, but I’d suggest you keep them in
quarantine for a while like always.”
“Of course.” Pete and I got ready to leave. “How’s
Max, by the way?” Carlie’s spaniel mix had always been a favorite
of mine—and not just because he’d been the first dog ever adopted
at HotRescues.
“As adorable as ever. So . . . when are you going
to let me interview you on my show about the hoarding
situation?”
“Around the same time I let you interview me about
the puppy mill situation.” That had occurred a few months ago, and
Carlie was still waiting.
“I figured. Well, let’s do lunch soon. My next
trip’s in three weeks, by the way.”
“Let’s aim for before then.”
“Fine. Oh, and one more thing.”
Her tone, and how she phrased her apparently casual
comment, made me wince. I knew her well enough to figure that she
really gave a damn about what she was about to say. “What’s
that?”
“How’s your investigation into the murder of that
Bethany person going?”
Too bad I’d already winced. Now I felt like
shriveling under her amused gaze. “What makes you think I’m
investigating?”
“Because I know you. And I know that you somehow
feel responsible for Mamie Spelling—even though you shouldn’t.
Who’s your best choice of a suspect now—Mamie or someone
else?”
I glanced at Pete. He was grinning, too, the louse.
He found this amusing.
“I honestly don’t know yet. Mamie’s not off my
list, and I’ve barely scratched the surface of looking at other
possibilities. But I’m really hoping to find the truth.”
“Before the cops do?”
“If they do.”
“Well, just remember the thing you learned the last
time you got involved in an investigation that shouldn’t have been
your problem.”
“It was my problem. The cops suspected
me.”
“Whatever.”
“And what do you think I learned?”
“That you can’t ever cross the least likely suspect
off your list.”
Of course I didn’t know who the least likely
suspect was. I pondered that as Pete drove us all to HotRescues. I
wasn’t certain who the most likely suspect was, either.
Mamie, I supposed.
Pete and I discussed the care of these new
residents, how long they’d be in quarantine, and the likelihood of
when, and if, we’d get more of the hoarded pets to take care of.
The discussion occupied my mind during most of the drive.
I also had no time to think more about suspects
when we reached the parking lot. Dante DeFrancisco’s car, a
late-model silver Mercedes, was parked there. Why had he come? He
hadn’t called first—or at least he hadn’t spoken to me.
No need for me to get all angsty. It could just be
a social visit. Or, he might be here to check out where all his
money was going, since he largely funded HotRescues. And the
purchase of the adjoining property and the construction going on
there . . .
That had to be why he was here—to check on the
progress of the new building.
Turned out that was correct. Nina, in the welcome
area, told me that Dante had stopped in, said hi, then went next
door to examine the work.
I’d sent some volunteers to help Pete bring our new
residents inside to the quarantine area. I was free to rush over to
say hi to Dante.
I heard voices as I slipped through the gate
dividing the two properties. Sure enough, one was Dante’s.
He was dressed in a crisp blue shirt and black
trousers, which told me he’d come from his office and had doffed
the jacket and tie from his suit. Dante was a tall, good-looking
guy with dark hair and a darker expression if people crossed him.
Which I never did if I could avoid it. I might be in charge here
when it came to everyone else, but Dante, our chief benefactor and
chairman of our board of directors, was my boss. Period.
He now seemed engrossed in conversation with
Halbert, the chief construction contractor for the new building.
Big contrast there. Halbert wore jeans and a ratty blue T-shirt.
But Dante wasn’t wielding a hammer that day, far as I knew. Halbert
probably was—or at least holding one over the heads of his
employees charged with finishing the building as quickly as
possible.
I strode toward them. “Hi, Dante and Halbert,” I
said cheerfully. “How are things going with our new building?”
Like, had Dante made it clear exactly how much longer Halbert and
company had to finish up?
“Fine, Lauren,” Halbert said. “I was just telling
Dante that we’re pretty much done with the exterior, and a lot of
the interior, too.”
Amazing! They’d only started a few weeks ago. But
Dante’s money obviously dictated their speed.
“Want to join us on a tour?” Dante asked.
“Absolutely!”
It really was amazing. The building had a lot of
similar amenities to our current central building. The offices
upstairs were nearly complete except for details like painting
walls and finishing floors. Downstairs, the kitchen and areas to
house toy dogs, cats, and other small animals were still mostly
just framed in so far.
I especially liked, upstairs, the balconies we’d
added into the architectural detailing. That way, we could bring
some cats outside in crates to get them fresh air. Smaller dogs,
too, when they weren’t being walked. It would be easier on the wide
patio areas, even lugging them up the steps, than it would be to
take them outside to our park a couple of times a day.
There were belt-and-suspender safety measures as
well, including folding screens that could be secured to ensure
that, even if any animals got out, they’d be confined on the
balconies till someone came to put them back. The screens were
still boxed, though—not yet installed.
The place looked wonderful. But I didn’t offer an
opinion until Dante, too, gave a verbal pat on the back to Halbert.
“Good job. Just step it up a little, will you? I want you to get to
the remodeling of the existing central building on the other
property as soon as possible.”
“Sure thing, Dante,” Halbert said.
We returned downstairs. “Do you have a few
minutes?” Dante asked as we headed to the main HotRescues
facility.
“Sure.”
We talked over the hoarding situation. He didn’t
seem upset that I was in the news because of coordinating private
facilities to take in the hoarding victims that Animal Services
gave up. “I want to meet your three new residents,” he said. I led
him toward the quarantine area, on one side of the downstairs area
of the central building, far from where toy dogs and cats were
currently housed. I assumed that Pete and the volunteers would have
situated them there already, which they had.
Dante was one really nice guy, not only because he
gave us all the money we needed to keep HotRescues going, but also
because he genuinely loved animals. He opened their enclosures.
While petting them, he talked fondly to our new rescuees, welcoming
them as much as if I were the one speaking to them.
In a few minutes, he secured the locks again, used
the hand sanitizer we always kept in the area, and turned toward
me. “I’ve got an idea to take advantage of the publicity you’re
getting for bringing these guys to HotRescues. How about a
fund-raiser—not that we need a few extra bucks, but that kind of
thing often brings people in—where the public will be invited to
come in, meet our residents, and maybe see some kind of
show.”
“Show?”
“I don’t know—do you have a new trainer yet who can
perform something with some of the dogs?”
“I’m just hiring someone, but it’s premature to
have him show off our current residents.”
“Well . . . Think about it. Maybe there’s some
other kind of event we can hold. We’ll give out free food for pets.
People can pay for theirs, but I’ll donate the proceeds. We’ll also
give special prizes to those who decide that day to adopt a pet—as
long as they meet with your approval, of course.”
“Of course.” His tone was teasing, but I knew he
liked my attitude—and wouldn’t have left me in charge here if I’d
done things much differently.
“Anyhow, I’d like to have something going on here
that’ll attract as many people as possible.”
I smiled. “Love the concept. Let me think about
possibilities.” Something had just crossed my mind, but I wasn’t
sure whether it would work—or even be a good idea.
I’d have to ask Matt.
We went out the back entrance and took our time
before heading back to the main building. Dante knew Pete and some
of the long-time volunteers, like Bev.
Ricki was there, too. Her veterinary tech school
would not start until fall, and the recent college graduate was
spending more time at HotRescues for the summer. Wanting to branch
out from just walking and cleaning up after animals, she was
brushing teeth, grooming, and performing basic health assessments
in anticipation of her soon-to-be new career.
Dante and she greeted each other and started
talking about a new line of dog food Dante had recently begun to
stock at HotPets stores. We all slowly walked by the outside
enclosures where our middle- and large-sized dogs were housed. A
few barked greetings, which started others responding. Noisy, yes,
but usual. And heartening. All our charges were healthy and
normal.
Eventually we reached the welcome area. I heard
voices from inside and hoped that Nina was speaking with some
possible adopters. I always liked to impress Dante that way,
although he knew how successful we were. I sent him reports weekly
in addition to those we discussed at monthly board meetings.
I was surprised, though, to see that the person
standing at the tall reception desk facing Nina behind it, and
barely able to see over it, was Mamie.
Nina caught my eye, and her expression was a
combination of irritation and frustration. Mamie must have noticed
it, because she turned. She appeared upset, until she saw it was
me.
She hobbled over, threw herself into my arms, and
said, “Lauren. I did it. I made it over the hill without driving on
the freeway. I heard that you have some of my babies here now, and
I want to see them.”
“Okay, Mamie. But you—”
“And now that I know I can get here by myself, even
though it takes forever—Lauren, I want you to give me a job.”