Dressed in her black security T-shirt and jeans, she was stalking through the parking lot, carrying two small reddish pups—probably Pomeranians—one under each arm. Pete was following her, looking equally stormy.

I caught up with her. “Are those—?”

“Supposed owner relinquishments,” Brooke muttered so low that I could hardly hear her.

“Found ’em out back like the others.” Pete waved some paper that I assumed was a note like the one left with Shazam.

“Then did you—?”

Brooke stopped in front of me at the doorway into the welcome area. “I’ll double-check, but whoever left them managed to stay pretty much out of range of the new security camera.”

After we’d talked about how Shazam and the others had been left here, Brooke had said she’d take care of it—at least so we could identify whoever was leaving the animals, owner relinquishments or not. She’d mounted a new security camera outside, then camouflaged it with decorative trim that was being used on the new building.

Apparently the supposed relinquisher had seen through the disguise—although that was what Brooke would be checking out. Me, too.

Zoey stayed beside me, obedient as always, but her nose was in the air as we neared Brooke and the dogs she held. “Cute,” I said. “Why would an owner relinquish them?”

“They were most likely abandoned,” Brooke contradicted, “no matter what the damned note says. No microchips. I scanned them.” We’d recently gotten a scanner to keep here. “And you know better than to ask anything like that, Lauren. Why would anyone abandon, relinquish, or abuse any animals? Because some people are crazy. And because they can.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

We all trooped into the welcome room, and the little dogs began squirming in Brooke’s arms. “Want me to take them to the vet to be checked out?” Brooke asked. “I can drop them off on my way home, and someone can pick them up later if the visit will take much time.”

“Fine.” I looked at Pete. “So, what are their names?”

“Pint-size and Tiny, according to this.” He waved the piece of paper, then leaned toward Brooke and the pups she held. “Hey, which one of you is Tiny?” Neither stopped squirming. “Pint-size?” Still no change. “What do you want to bet that whoever found these two made up the names to make this look like a relinquishment . . . again?”

“Not a bet I’d take,” I said. “But I still think it’s better for them to stay here once their health is checked out. I’ll call Matt to let him know about these latest ‘relinquishments,’ though, to make sure he’s okay with our hanging on to them.”

I helped Pete find some standard leashes with loops at the end for dogs that weren’t wearing collars, and we attached Pint-size and Tiny—or whoever they were—to them back in the welcome area. “Let me know what happens. I’m not sure whether Carlie will be at the clinic, but—”

“All the vets there are good,” Brooke said. Another statement I couldn’t argue with. “I’ll let you know who we see and what the results are.”

They left, and Zoey and I followed Pete back into the shelter area. He continued toward the storage building at the end of the path to get our residents’ breakfasts ready. Zoey and I took our stroll, making sure everyone looked healthy, although most of the dogs appeared lonesome and in need of a pat. Then we went inside the center building, and after greeting the toy dogs in enclosures there, I looked for an empty cage where our new dogs would eventually stay after their quarantine, assuming they were healthy. Also assuming that Matt wasn’t as tired of this scenario as I was and used it as a reason to insist that I turn them over to Animal Services. I’d fight it—but I didn’t dare fight too hard. I had to stay in their good graces, for the sake of our residents.

I preferred staying in Matt’s good graces, too—but if it came down to having to end whatever relationship we had entered into, or helping more pets, the animals would win. I felt sure he had the same attitude, too.

At least we had room here for these two new ones, since I hadn’t taken on many of the pets made available from Mamie’s surrender.

Back in my office, I saw that Brooke had been busy last night, even before she’d rescued those two Poms from our back alley. There were printouts on my desk from research she had done online about possible suspects in Bethany’s murder.

She had also left a list she’d gotten from the police about people they were considering as suspects. Presumably Antonio had been her source, although that wasn’t obvious from the paperwork. The list included nearly everyone I’d met, and many I hadn’t, who’d known Bethany.

Mamie was, unsurprisingly, at the top, although it wasn’t stated to be in the order of who was the most likely candidate. Bethany’s guy, Miguel Rohrig, was next, then her two ex-husbands, Cricket, all administrators whose shelters were part of PST, some people who’d adopted pets from Better Than Any Pet Rescues, and others who’d been involved with her cosmetics company.

There were a lot of possible murderers out there.

A thought crossed my mind. I’d already booted up my aging computer, and it had chugged to life. I did an online search for Bethany Urber’s obituary and learned that her funeral would be on Saturday, two days from now, at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, the resting place of many stars. I figured that Bethany must have left instructions for an ostentatious send-off that she would love. Too bad she wouldn’t be there to watch.

Could be that most of those on the list Brooke had obtained would be present. I’d be there, too, I decided on the spot. But I was unlikely to do much more than observe the suspects who also attended. Long conversations about their relationships with Bethany were unlikely to be feasible.

So . . . I flipped through the papers that Brooke had left. When I’d glanced at them before, I’d seen she had located Miguel Rohrig. Though I’d heard he was an out-of-work actor being supported by Bethany, he was apparently an in-work waiter at the moment, at an upscale Westwood restaurant.

Good excuse for me to call Matt. That, plus our new upcoming residents.

First, though, I got a call from Brooke. The pups needed to stay there for a few hours till they got the results of some blood tests, but the initial vet exam suggested they were fine. I arranged for Nina to pick them up later that day.

I then placed my call to Matt, but just reached his voice mail. I left a message inviting him to dinner.

I heard back from him nearly immediately. “It’s a date, Lauren,” he said. “Got some stuff to talk to you about, too. And I’ll be interested to hear the reason you chose Esplendido as our restaurant for the evening.”

I’d been concerned that he might be taking some time to himself after Bethany’s death, not working, staying in seclusion to mourn. But Googling him yielded a majorly pretentious Web site, linked to Twitter and a Facebook page. He’d let the world know he was facing his loss bravely, still maintaining his job, missing Bethany, the works. And if anyone wanted to have him serve their table at Esplendido, they just had to ask—and, of course, leave a big tip.

Well, he didn’t really add that last sentence, but I felt certain that was his intention.

His Web site also linked to Esplendido’s, and I swallowed hard when I saw the prices. I’d invited Matt, so it should be my treat. I wouldn’t argue much if he suggested paying for it. Maybe we could go Dutch, but even so I was still in for a large tab. The price of helping Mamie, I supposed.

I departed early from HotRescues, changed clothes, and left Zoey at home. Matt and I were meeting at the restaurant at seven.

I found a metered parking spot along a neighboring street, avoiding the cost of a valet, at least. I’d thrown on a rather nice dress, black with sequins decorating the neckline, and thought I looked pretty good, even as I took my time walking on my not-quite-stilettos the two blocks to the restaurant.

Catching Matt’s sexy gaze when he first saw me, I figured I’d made a good choice.

I took his hand and we walked inside. Esplendido had large picture windows to the street, overlooking a series of tables of different sizes covered with pristine white tablecloths and surrounded by patrons. I loved the spicy odor that greeted us as we entered, but I could have done without the loud buzz of conversation.

The place was brimming with people. We were met nearly immediately by a maitre d’ dressed in an attitude of subservient responsibility: white shirt, black trousers, and a small black apron. “Dinner for two?”

“Yes. And we’d like to sit at a table where Miguel Rohrig will be our server.” I’d spotted the guy I believed to be Miguel about halfway down the long room, talking to some patrons. He looked like the wannabe-star photos on his Web site, and everyone was looking at him with interest and concern.

“I’m afraid he is quite busy already. You could wait for one of his tables, but it might be a while.”

I did see a couple of empty tables not far from where he stood, but that didn’t mean he was assigned to them.

“Oh, but I really want him to be our server. We have some friends in common, and I especially want to convey my condolences on his loss.” I stared into the maitre d’s eyes. He seemed to know what I was talking about, but he didn’t budge.

Until Matt pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket and slipped it to the guy. “We really don’t have much time to wait,” he said. “Could you possibly seat us now?”

“Of course, sir.”

I glanced at Matt, who only smiled. I should have figured that was the answer, but I didn’t eat out at this kind of place very often.

Did he? There was a lot about him that I still didn’t know.

The table to which we were shown was only one away from where Miguel stood still conversing. I wondered whether any of the patrons he was serving would actually receive any meals that night. Like us.

“So that was your ulterior motive,” Matt said as we took our seats and lifted menus that had been placed on the table. “That guy’s Bethany Urber’s former boyfriend?”

I looked over Matt appreciatively. He cleaned up well, too. He wore a charcoal suit with a burgundy tie, and his dark hair seemed to be getting a bit longer than I’d seen it before. He mostly wore it in a short military cut. It looked great on him either way. In fact, I’d concluded from the moment I’d first met him, at the puppy mill rescue, that he was one handsome guy.

“Yes, he is,” I said as Miguel approached us.

“Good evening.” He appeared to be in his early thirties, younger than Bethany had been. He had long, gleaming black hair, an obvious five o’clock shadow, and thick, dark brows. A Latin lover sort? A gigolo? Probably all of the above. He wore an outfit similar to the maitre d’s. “My name is Miguel, and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I get you anything to drink first?”

I ordered a glass of the house wine, and Matt ordered beer. Then I said, “Miguel, I was a friend of Bethany’s. Or at least an acquaintance. We’d only recently met. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

He looked at me, and his eyes welled up with tears. “Thank you. She was a wonderful woman. I will miss her, and I’m sure you will miss that you didn’t get an opportunity to know her better. Are you coming to her funeral?”

“I plan to.”

“Thank you,” he repeated. He seemed to fight genuine tears. Oh, yes, this guy did appear to be someone unlikely to have murdered Bethany, if he’d cared for her so much.

On the other hand, he was admittedly an actor.

I ordered chile verde, and Matt ordered a gourmet burrito. Miguel served us chips and an utterly delicious salsa to start with. He was surprisingly attentive, considering the crowd of people he was serving.

But I realized that this was hardly a better locale than the upcoming funeral to get any real information from him, only an impression of what he felt.

Matt and I talked shop a bit—and I did ask if he had found out anything about Mamie’s Herman.

“He had some medical issues—strange to think he was Mamie’s favorite, since he was even more emaciated than some of the others. Even so, he’ll be fine now. You want to take him to HotRescues?”

“Can I?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t let Mamie take him home.”

“That’ll be difficult. You mean permanently?”

“At least until we have some assurance that she won’t starve the poor dog again—or take in any others.”

“Of course.” I told him then about our two new drop-offs. “I really thought, with the measures our security expert, Brooke, put in place, that we’d be able to catch whoever’s been doing it, but not yet. We got the same kind of note, that these were an owner relinquishment, but you know I can’t guarantee where these two came from. No microchips. Is it okay if we hang on to them?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

When we’d finished, I didn’t allow myself to gasp at the bill, but after arguing with Matt, who wanted to treat despite the magnitude of the amount, I tendered a credit card to pay my half when Miguel had it split.

“I’d really love to talk to you some more about Bethany,” I told Miguel as we got ready to leave. “I’m a pet rescuer, too, and her ideas of creating a network the way she did, and her telling the world so much about rescuers . . . we’ve really lost a wonderful person.”

Yes, I was gushing. Maybe I could get an acting role, too. Maybe I’d even be better at it than Miguel.

But whatever I’d done, it apparently worked. He reached into the pocket of his small apron and drew out a card. “I’m always pleased to talk about my Bethany,” he said. “Call me any afternoon, before I come here. Maybe one, two o’clock? It will be my pleasure, Lauren.”

Lauren? He’d obviously read my credit card, which worried me.

On the other hand, I was looking at him as a potential murderer. Identity theft? I’d know who to come after.

But was he the one who’d killed Bethany?