“That guy did seem to be in mourning.” Matt moved slightly behind me to let a couple going the other way get by.

“Yeah. I don’t know how much was genuine. I’ll have to find out.”

Matt was right beside me again, his arm around my shoulder. “Be careful. Genuine mourning or not, he still could have killed her.”

“Duh.” Humor filled my voice.

He laughed, then said, “Okay, Lauren, I know you’re not stupid. Foolish, sometimes, maybe—but not stupid. You’ll still keep me informed about what you learn about him, and anyone else you think could have killed Bethany?”

Repetitious, yes, but at least he��d phrased it as a question this time. I also knew he was only behaving this way because he gave a damn about me. “Sure.” It was time to change the subject. I hadn’t forgotten what I wanted to ask him at dinner but hadn’t found the best time to mention it.

We’d reached my car after turning a corner onto a quiet side street. I was hoping for a goodnight kiss. He took my arm and gazed down at me beneath the illumination of the streetlight. Looked as if we shared that intention, which gave me the perfect opening for what I wanted to say.

“So . . .” I cocked my head slightly as I looked up at Matt. The cragginess of his features was emphasized by the shadows created by the light’s energy-saving bulb. “Is this a good time to ask you for a favor?”

He laughed again and hugged me. “You do know how to play a guy, don’t you, Lauren?”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask,” I said defensively.

“No, but the answer is yes.”

I stared up at him. “Are you nuts?”

“No, but I’m coming to know you. I trust you. If something’s so important to you that you think you have to play a game with me about it, then it’ll be important to me, too. Unless—” He paused. “You’re not going to ask me to do something against Animal Services policy, are you—at least not something I can’t easily get around?”

“Nothing like that. But it’s something to help HotRescues, and to help me impress the chairman of our board of directors.”

“You want to impress Dante DeFrancisco? How can I help?”

“He’s planning some kind of fund-raiser at HotRescues in conjunction with showing off our new building. It’s more of a public relations thing than for bringing in a lot of money.”

“And I can help how?”

“Could you get SmART to do some kind of demonstration?” The Small Animal Rescue Team was an amazing group of Animal Services personnel who volunteered to save nearly any kind of small animals, pets or not, from lifethreatening situations. They were the ones who had saved the puppies tossed down a storm drain recently to hide them from a puppy mill raid, and I was really impressed with them.

I always felt awed that Matt was their commanding officer, along with the Department Air Rescue Team that brought in helicopters to save horses and larger animals from danger, as well as strategic planning for handling animals in area-wide disasters.

“Sure, we can work something out,” Matt said. “Do you want them to save MARTE from a fictional situation you put together?” He’d told me before that MARTE stood for “Mock animal for training exercises”—a fair-sized stuffed dog that the team “rescued” for practice.

“Maybe, especially if they do something sexy like rappel down the side of one of our buildings.”

“Let me think about it, and give me some choices on dates. But you can count on something, Lauren. Especially if it helps call attention to the great job HotRescues is doing as a private no-kill shelter.”

I didn’t hold back then, but threw my arms around him. He bent down, and our kiss was wonderful.

“That’s one nice thank-you.” Matt sounded a little out of breath when we finally unlocked our lips.

“And you’re one nice captain, Captain.”

“All in the interest of saving animals. Oh, and impressing one certain animal rescuer.”

“You can definitely consider me impressed.” I pushed the button to unlock my Venza and slipped inside, waving to Matt as I drove off . . . and wishing he was following me home.

Soon, I promised myself. It had been long enough since our last time together.

On the other hand, I’d get to see them as they moved around our house and maybe they’d have some time for dinner with their mom. They’d both arrive tomorrow night—Friday.

I awoke early the next morning, took Zoey for a neighborhood walk, then we both took off for HotRescues. I held my breath as I drove into the parking lot, but I saw no abandoned—or relinquished—pets lying around anywhere. Brooke had had someone else sleep there at night as our security force, and that person, Karen, was chatting with Pete inside our welcome room when Zoey and I entered.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“No new pets dropped off, if that’s what you’re asking.” Our senior handyman looked much more at ease this morning than he had yesterday.

Karen was nearer my age than Brooke’s. She’d stayed here before a few times. Her light eyes appeared bleary, as if she missed her sleep, and she wore a backwards cap over her dull blond hair. She bent to pat Zoey, then looked up at me. “Rather boring here overnight, Lauren. I’ll have to create some excitement next time.”

“Please don’t.” I matched her smile.

That day turned out to be fairly routine in all ways. Our residents were thriving—and I assured myself of that with my first walk around the shelter. No new drop-offs. No frantic calls from any public shelter volunteers asking us to bring in some endangered animals from their facilities.

Matt called only to let me know he was still trying to get an answer on when I could pick up Mamie’s dog Herman. Plus, he’d spoken to the SmART team leader about what kind of demo they could perform at HotRescues and when, but nothing was certain yet.

Mid-afternoon, I pulled Miguel Rohrig’s card out of my purse while I was alone in my office, but he didn’t answer. Nor did he return my call, though I left a message.

Eventually, I was able to dash home—in time to see Kevin before he ran out to meet his friends. We got together in the kitchen, where he’d taken a glass of water from the fridge dispenser and sat on the floor teasing Zoey with an ice cube.

My handsome eighteen-year-old son, a freshman at nearby Claremont McKenna College, made my heart stop as always, since he looked so much like his dad. He was tall and slender, with intense brown eyes beneath straight brows. His hair was unmanageable, the deep red of an autumn leaf about to turn brown. He smiled a lot, too, with the greatest, upbeat personality—unlike his serious mom.

“You doing all right?” He eyed me up and down as if trying to find something off that he could fix. “I mean, if you need me for anything—”

“You’ve already given me what I want just by being here,” I said. “But . . . what are you up to tomorrow?” It would be the day of Bethany’s funeral, and I wanted to go, to observe everyone who attended, but if it was a choice between seeing my kids and going to a funeral, guess which would win.

Kevin had plans. So did his sister. Tracy arrived about half an hour after Kevin left. A friend had picked her up at Bob Hope Airport in Burbank and would return for her soon.

“Hi, Mom.” She gave me a quick kiss, then hurried upstairs to leave her carry-on bag in her room. In a few minutes, she showed up in the living room, where I’d turned on TV news. She looked more like me—medium height, relatively slim, with green eyes. She wore her dark brown hair shoulder length, though, while I kept mine sheared into a manageable cap.

Their reunions with their high school friends had different origins—some ball games for Kevin, and an extended engagement party for one of Tracy’s friends—but both would be occupied tomorrow.

I could follow through with my plans, too. But mine were far different from the kinds of celebrations they were attending.

Eventually, leaving the place under the control of Nina and some volunteers, I left to face the ordeal of the day.

I hate funerals, even when I don’t know the deceased person very well. The surroundings never fail to remind me of my dear Kerry’s funeral. We’d held it in a much more modest location—Forest Lawn of Hollywood, not Hollywood Forever Cemetery. Even so, interments are interments. Though rhetoric suggests their purpose is to celebrate the life of the deceased, they’re in fact burials of the dead. A final ceremony in a life that has ended. Period.

Okay. I’d gotten past Kerry’s funeral. I’d certainly be able to deal with Bethany Urber’s. She wasn’t a close friend. She wasn’t really a friend at all.

It was an ordeal nevertheless. I arrived early, since I needed to see who else was there and, if possible, talk to some of them. Cops were already present, some in dress uniform, I supposed, and others in suits whom I recognized as detectives. But I felt certain they were observing the attendees with the same goal I did: to see if anyone jumped up and confessed to murdering Bethany.

Which, unsurprisingly, didn’t happen.

The Hollywood Forever Cemetery was actually quite impressive, with its mausoleums and tall obelisk commemorating some of those interred there, its mostly flat green grounds, shallow pools, hacienda-style chapel, and palm trees.

Right now, though, it was bereft of the serenity that I assumed it usually displayed in honor of the many Hollywood stars and others buried there. The media had turned out in droves, which was probably just what Bethany wanted. If nothing else, her murder had catapulted her into her five minutes of fame. I recognized some newscasters and paparazzi, including one I’d met several times before, Corina Carey of National NewsShakers. She was a sort-of friend of Kendra Ballantyne, Dante’s significant other.

I’m not usually a mingler. At parties or whatever, I find people I know and hang out with them. But at this event, I wanted not just to pay my respects to Bethany, but to get further ideas about who might have hated her.

I started by edging my way through a crowd that had formed around Miguel Rohrig from the moment he walked onto cemetery grounds. A lot appeared to be paparazzi, although others included scantily dressed young women who might just have shown up to hang out with the would-be film star.

I managed to get near him, earning not a few dirty looks. Quizzical ones, too, like what would some broad my age be thinking, trying to get near this young hunk?

“Hello, Miguel,” I finally said when I was right beside him. “Remember me—from the night before last?” The way I’d phrased my question earned me a lot of curious—and jealous—stares.

“Of course, Lauren. Sorry I didn’t get an opportunity to call you back yesterday. Let’s get together for a drink one of these days, shall we? I’ll call you.”

Except for the last, what he’d said was exactly what I was looking for. I couldn’t be sure he actually would call. But, as determined as I was to talk with him, I’d keep phoning him till we got together.

I moved out of his sphere of hangers-on and headed toward the group of people who looked familiar from Bethany’s presentation on hoarders. Most were probably administrators from the shelters included in the PST network.

Cricket was at the forefront, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She had worn an over-the-top black dress that would have been something Bethany could have chosen as she presided at the Better Than Any Pet Rescues plantation house—a full length black gown that looked like something from a history film. Since Cricket was on the short side and a little plump, I couldn’t say the attire was especially flattering. It nevertheless made a statement about her grieving for Bethany.

As I approached, Cricket dashed over and embraced me soggily. “Oh, Lauren, thank you so much for coming. Bethany would be so happy to know you’re here.”

I doubted it but just said, “My condolences again, Cricket.”

She released me and paraded among some of the others. Though she appeared sad and perhaps a bit vulnerable, I didn’t think she was off her guard enough to admit it if I asked if she’d murdered Bethany.

Coming here was turning out to be as helpful in finding Bethany’s murderer as if I’d tried to hold a séance. And, no, I don’t believe in paranormal stuff like that.

I glanced around to see who else I could chat with. Darya Price was there with her husband—what was his name? Ran? No, Lan. I made my way over to them.

“My condolences,” I repeated to her. Darya looked pale and drawn, and if I’d thought her fragile enough not to withstand an exuberant jump from a large-breed dog before, I now thought she might be in trouble even with a friendly moderate-sized one. She clung to her equally slim husband’s arm. They both wore suits, Darya’s charcoal and Lan’s black. “I wish I’d gotten to know Bethany better,” I continued. “She must have been quite a wonderful person to draw this kind of crowd at her funeral.”

“Wonderful? Of course.” Darya’s voice sounded distant, as if she wanted to be anywhere but here. She wasn’t alone in that. I empathized.

“That’s what she wanted everyone to believe.” Despite his harsh words, Lan sounded sad. “She did try to help a lot of animals,” he continued. “That’s what she should be remembered for.”

He looked down at his wife with obvious fondness in his eyes.

“You know,” I said, “I’ve been considering, in Bethany’s memory, the possibility of looking into some affiliation of HotRescues with Pet Shelters Together. First, though, I’d really like to meet more of the administrators who joined. Could you introduce me to some who’re here?”

That was when I noticed that some dark-suited guys who must be part of the funeral staff were herding people into the chapel. The service must be ready to begin.

“Later,” I amended. “Okay?”

“Of course,” Darya said. “Although—”

There was a note of distress in her voice, but Lan took her arm. “We’d better go in.” He looked at me. “She can introduce you to people, of course, but you know that Cricket is in charge of PST. You’ll need to talk to her.”

I started to follow the crowd inside.

“Hi, Lauren,” said a soft, sad voice from beside me.

I looked down.

“Mamie!” I had to force myself to keep my own voice low. “What are you doing here?”