Chapter 11
On my drive back to HotRescues, I pondered the
meager list of additional suspects that Mamie had strained to tell
me about. She claimed not to have known Bethany well. Even so, she
had met her weeks ago, had had a lot of interaction with her while
they discussed the possibility of Mamie’s Beach Pet Rescue joining
the Pet Shelters Together network.
But that didn’t mean she knew Bethany personally.
Mamie probably didn’t know her well enough to figure out
everyone—else—who might have wanted Bethany out of their
lives.
That left it up to me . . . somewhat.
I wasn’t an investigator. I’d no reason to believe
that the cops were mishandling anything. They were treating Mamie
like a suspect . . . which she was. But they hadn’t arrested her.
That indicated they weren’t necessarily jumping to
conclusions.
Yet I also couldn’t say with any certainty that
they were doing anything besides getting all their detective mojo
lined up so they could prosecute Mamie with no hitches when they
were ready to pull her in.
A little thing like her not being guilty might not
stand in their path once they decided to prosecute.
But was she guilty?
And why was I putting myself through this?
I knew the answer, of course. I always helped
friends. Mamie had once been a friend—a really good one. The fact
that I’d won the position at HotRescues, and not her, might have
angered her, but I now believed I should have made a greater effort
to stay in touch.
I’d unintentionally turned my back on her then when
she might have needed my help. I wouldn’t do it again.
Besides, if she had decided to kill anybody, I’d
already figured it was more likely to have been me. She apparently
still resented that Dante had chosen me to run HotRescues, and I’d
been the one to call Animal Services on her.
Not that I felt bad about either. Both had been the
right choice.
They also made me feel a little sorrier for
Mamie.
I used my hands-free device to call ahead to
HotRescues. Brooke, having finished her overnight security duties,
had already left. Everything there was fine, Bev, our senior
volunteer, assured me. Since it was Sunday, Nina wasn’t around.
Most likely she was volunteering today at one of the L.A. city
shelters. Pete wasn’t around, either, and the place was largely
staffed by our volunteers. I also heard noise in the background as
I talked to Bev that suggested . . . A. she was outside, and B. the
construction guys were there, next door, working on the new
building.
Since everything sounded in order, I pulled over
once I got off the freeway and asked Bev to look something up for
me. “I need some information to do a home visit on my way to
HotRescues,” I told her.
After about five minutes, she called me back with
information about one of our recent adoptions—a cat placement in
Northridge, not far off my route to HotRescues.
I called the number of the very nice lady who had
adopted the calico kitty we’d called QueenJ a few weeks ago. I’d
done one follow-up visit nearly immediately, since Q.J. had been
sent to her new home at the end of an adoption event in a park, and
I was always concerned about how those quick placements would work
out—so much so that I almost never permitted them. The people had
appeared to be great prospective adopters, but, micromanager that I
tend to be, I always did at least one extra visit to assure myself
that all was well.
“Carmen?” I said when a woman answered the phone.
“I’m Lauren Vancouver, the administrator at HotRescues.”
“Oh, yes, Lauren. Good to hear from you. Queen is
doing just fine, if that’s what you’re calling about.”
“It is. Would you mind if I stopped by for another
visit?”
“Not at all.” She was home, and I headed my car in
her direction.
Her house was a modest one, on a street off
Nordhoff. The area was familiar. I’d visited another house just a
block or two away last week, to check on a dog placement.
When I reached the front door, I assumed that
Carmen Herrera had been watching for me. She opened it, and the
sweet calico we’d rehomed here was in her arms.
“She’s still a house cat?” I confirmed as I
followed Carmen into her living room.
“Absolutely. I’d be so worried if she roamed around
outside.”
This was one of those situations where a person
resembled her pet, or vice versa. I couldn’t be sure whether Carmen
had selected Queen J based on the fact that her hair was fluffy and
multicolored, too, but intentional or not, that was how it
was.
I only stayed a few minutes. All looked well. Queen
J was still the cat’s name, and she appeared pampered and
happy.
All in all, a good rehoming. I’d mark the visit in
our online files once I got back to HotRescues. I didn’t think we’d
need to come back again, unless we got word that conditions had
changed.
“Thanks so much for letting me visit, Carmen,” I
said as I walked out the door. “You, too, Queen J.”
“Anytime,” Carmen said. “And thank you, Lauren, and
all of HotRescues. It’s so wonderful to have a kitty like Queenie
in my life. You know, I’ve told everyone about you, and my
neighbors around the corner adopted a new dog from HotRescues just
a couple of weeks ago. They’re the ones who told me about
you.”
“I know,” I said. “And I appreciate the referral.
The more pets we can adopt out to good homes, the happier we all
are.”
Just for the heck of it, I drove around the corner
and passed the house where that dog we’d recently adopted out now
lived. He’d been sweet and shaggy, a reddish Briard mix we’d called
Beardsley, and the house had a fenced yard much larger than
Carmen’s. He was, in fact, the second dog we had placed with this
family, as well as a cat who’d come here first. The humans
consisted of a single parent, Margie Tarbet, and her teenage son,
Davie. I’d interviewed both of them before the first placement and
liked them a lot. Davie, in particular, seemed fascinated by the
whole idea of pet rescue.
The cat, Nemo, and the first dog, Moe, had both
been adopted more than a year ago and had seemed a good fit, even
getting along together. We’d made sure that Beardsley was okay with
cats by bringing him into one of our cat areas, and then had Margie
bring Moe to HotRescues to confirm that Beardsley and he got along.
No problems there, either. I’d spoken with Margie after she brought
Beardsley home, and she had assured me that he and the others were
all adapting fine to one another. I still wanted to check it out,
though—as well as how the human family was relating to them.
I didn’t see either pup or the kitty outside, a
good thing. I impulsively parked and went up the front walk of the
cottage-like house, then rang the doorbell.
Dogs barked, but no person answered the door. That
was fine. I’d no belief that there were any issues here. Beardsley
was guarding his new home along with Moe, as he should. Nemo was
probably observing the foolish, excited dogs, bored as he washed
his paws.
I could only grin as I returned to my car. Even so,
I’d do a follow-up visit here soon.
Back at HotRescues, I left a message on Brooke’s
cell phone and gave Zoey a hug. My pup had been hanging out in my
office, sleeping under my desk. I invited her to come along while I
did my next shelter walk-through, and she eagerly agreed.
Bev was still staffing the welcome area. When Zoey
and I passed through on our way outside, she was conversing with a
young couple. Shamelessly eavesdropping, I learned that the pair
was newly moving in together and couldn’t decide on the size of the
dog they wanted to adopt.
Bev, a senior citizen, was short and thin, slightly
bent over as if she perhaps had osteoporosis. But she was more
animated than volunteers a fraction of her age.
“Since you’re renting half a house and have a yard,
you don’t have to stick with a toy dog unless you want to. Plus,
kids your age will probably love going on long walks or even runs
with your new pet. Now, we have several mid-sized dogs I’d like to
introduce you to. Unless—” She looked at me. “Care to do the
honors, Lauren?” She looked back at the couple. “This is the really
nice lady who runs this place, and she knows a lot about all our
animals.”
What the heck? Zoey and I took them through the
shelter area, listening as they discussed each dog we passed. The
guy seemed to like the big, husky-like canines best. The girl was
into terriers and small spaniels.
Until . . . “Isn’t he sweet?” the girl said,
stopping outside the enclosure housing a mid-sized furry mix whose
breeds I couldn’t even guess. The pup had an elongated muzzle,
pointy ears, and a wistful expression in deep brown eyes. We called
him Big Boy.
The young man also knelt down and reached inside
the enclosure. All three smiled and stared at one another, and I
believed we had a match.
Assuming, of course, that I approved their
application. Which, a short while later, after reviewing it with
them and seeing the couple interact with Big Boy in our outdoor
visitors area, I did, but they would have to come back later to
talk with Dr. Mona before adopting their new pet. Moving in
together was a big change in their lives, so I wanted to be sure
our staff psychologist thought them a good fit, too.
Brooke returned my call a short while later.
Sitting behind my desk once more, I gave her a rundown of what I’d
learned from Mamie, which wasn’t a lot.
“So she’s not under arrest but expects it
momentarily?”
“That’s what I gather.”
“And you still don’t think she’s guilty?”
“I still don’t know. But in case she’s not . . .
could you ask Antonio if the detectives are seriously considering
other suspects, or if they’re just putting together their case
against Mamie?”
“Will do. If they’ve got others in mind, will you
still want to pursue this?”
“I don’t really want to pursue it even if they have
fully open minds and don’t think Mamie’s their only
candidate.”
“But—”
“But if that’s not the case, I’ll at least want to
look at some other possibilities. Just for the sake of
fairness.”
And nosiness. And taking charge of anything in
which I’m involved, whenever possible. And watching out for
friends, even those with whom I was no longer close. But I didn’t
say any of that.
“Got it. But, Lauren . . .” Brooke paused, which
made me lean forward a little in my desk chair, anticipating she
was about to say something profound. “Okay, let me be honest here.
From the little I’ve seen about this case, I think your friend
Mamie could be guilty.”
“I know it’s possible,” I said with a sigh. “One
problem, though, is that I’m concerned no one is trying to find
another answer just in case she’s innocent.”
“Except you?”
I nodded. “Except me.”
“Then we’ll stay on it,” Brooke said. “I’ll let you
know what I find.”