Beaglemania (12 page)

“I’ve only returned a few other calls besides to you,” I told her. “And none was to him. Which one’s his number?”

She told me, and I pushed it into my cell phone. It was fairly late, so I expected I’d just have to leave a message, too, but at least I now would recognize it when he called back.

But he answered right away. “It’s about time, Lauren. Look, I don’t want to talk to you over the phone. Meet me for a drink.” He named a place not far from HotRescues. “There are some things you should know.”

To hell with my exhaustion. I let curiosity and the need to be in human company—especially the company of Matt Kingston—outweigh common sense and agreed to meet him in half an hour.

We met at the bar of a great Mexican restaurant where I’d eaten lunch occasionally. The place was crowded—it was a Saturday night—but we still found a table for two along a wall.

I was tired enough that I considered ordering something nonalcoholic, but not long or seriously. I deserved one drink, as long as it wasn’t too strong. A strawberry margarita whet my appetite and it would soon wet my lips. Matt chose a Dos Equis beer.

I’d taken time to shower fast and change out of the HotRescues outfit I’d worn for nearly two days, sometimes with the hoodie for warmth and sometimes not. Now, I wore a yellow long-sleeved shirt tucked into khaki pants. I’d decided to throw on something that would make me appear cheerful. I was afraid that what Matt wanted to see me about had something to do with the disposition of the animals from the puppy mill—in a manner I’d hate.

That would only add insult to the injury of being a suspect in killing a wretched member of the human race who’d hurt them in the first place.

Last time I’d seen Matt, he’d worn an Animal Services uniform. Now, he had a sport jacket on over a shirt and slacks. Trying to impress me?

More likely, he’d been to some kind of meeting before.

When our orders were taken, we chatted amiably for a while, loud enough to hear one another over the endless thunder of conversations in the bar. I knew we were here on business—the very important business of saving animals. Even so, we edged into some personal small talk about our favorite things about LA, our jobs and mutual acquaintances. I hadn’t dated for a while, but this felt a bit like what I remembered.

Then Matt leaned over and asked quietly, “Are you okay, Lauren? I tried some official channels to learn all I could about that guy Kiley’s death and heard that some of the garbage in the media may have been true.”

“What, that I killed him?”

“Only if you’ve literally backstabbed him.” His eyes, a much deeper brown than the drink the server now set in front of him, bored into mine, apparently trying to read my mind.

“Not guilty.” I kept my tone light as I took my first sip of the cold, fruity cocktail I’d ordered. It tasted great, though its alcohol content needed boosting.

“What about killing him in self-defense? I’m playing devil’s advocate here—maybe he turned around fast.”

I stood and glared down at Matt. “So you do believe the crap those damn reporters are spewing to improve their ratings? I had nothing to do with what happened to Efram Kiley. He made threats against me, my employees, and my animals. I made him leave, told him never to come back. I hung out at HotRescues to protect everyone that night. Then I found him there, in the middle of our shelter area. I didn’t even wish him dead, just incarcerated forever. I’d rather he’d have had lots of time to think and suffer over what he did to those animals. Now, unless there really is a hell, he’s free.”

“Whoa.” Matt waved me back to my seat. I ignored him. I’d come for information about those poor dogs. If he wanted to insult or even tease me, he could drink alone. “Sorry. I figured Kiley was enough of a jerk to threaten you. That was the part of the news stories I bought. As to the rest, I wouldn’t have blamed you even if you had rammed a knife into him and twisted—especially in self-defense. But I believe it when you say you had nothing to do with it.”

“I had nothing to do with it.” I said each word slowly and with feeling, but I did sit down again. I took another sip of margarita as my blood pressure slowed just a little.

“Got it. So . . . any idea who did kill him?”

“Not really.” Not yet, at least. I had a feeling I’d be considering the possibilities even more, though, unless the cops started acting like the knowledgeable pros they were supposed to be—and stopped treating me as the most likely suspect. Sure, I happened to be with Efram when they showed up, but that wasn’t proof I hurt him, for
any
reason. “The only thing I can figure is that maybe someone was following him and caught up with him at HotRescues. Maybe those people who ran the puppy mill.” A thought struck me. “Is that possible? Your folks arrested Efram but he was out on bail. Were they released, too?”

Matt nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

As I sipped my margarita, I pondered the inequity. Humans were much more likely to harm other beings than most pets were, and they got away with it too often—no matter whether those beings were other people or defenseless animals.

I considered Nina and the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of her ex. Her restraining order was valuable only to the extent that particular jerk chose to heed it. Fortunately, he’d apparently moved to another city.

And I was relatively fortunate, too. My ex, the dishonorable Charles Earles, hadn’t laid a hand on me. Only on my already slim bank accounts so he could have a grand time feting his sexy young paramours. The louse.

Why the hell was I even thinking about him now, while in the presence of one really hot guy? Not that I was into hot guys, or any other kind of guys, these days. Charles had weaned me of any interest.

But this particular hot guy could help me resolve my current dilemma. “So what’s the talk around Animal Services? Does anyone think those puppy millers—the Shaheens—killed Efram? Or maybe another animal lover who hated what he’d helped to do to those pups? Or—”

“Right now, everyone’s applauding you, Lauren. Under the assumption, of course, that he went there to attack you and the animals, and you defended yourself.”

“Oh.” So they, too, were taking the easy way out. Good thing they weren’t investigating Efram’s death.

“But I meant what I said. You told me you had nothing to do with it, and I believe you.”

He caught my gaze and held on—till I looked away. Felt my face grow pink. The guy was flirting, even as he essentially accused me of killing someone. No matter how he denied it.

Time to change the subject. I first took another long swig of margarita, only to find I’d nearly emptied the pretty but shallow glass. I frowned as I set it back on the table.

“Another one?” Matt asked.

“Well . . . it looks like you’ll take a while to finish your beer. So, yes, please.” I wanted to blame it on him.

But I’d be careful. I still had to drive back home. And I certainly didn’t want to be pulled over by the cops with everything that was going on.

Matt waved over a server and ordered my refill. Then I said, “I’d thought, when you asked me to meet you, that you wanted to talk about the rescued pups. How are they doing now? And their parents?”

His smile lit up the angles of his face as if
he
were a proud parent. “Amazingly, they’re all just fine. I’ve seen larger puppy mills, and ones that abused the animals even more. This one wasn’t so bad, all things considered.”

“
Not
all things considered,” I reminded him. “Some of those guys were thrown into the storm drain.”

“Yeah.” His tone underscored his sudden anger.

“Did anyone admit to doing it?”

“No, although the neighbor who called in the complaint told us, and not just the media, that it appeared to be one person, probably male, who trotted out of the gate at least twice. The description she gave fit Efram a lot better than Bradley Shaheen, and both Shaheens swear it was Efram. But they also swear that they just love animals and that they took good care of them and made sure any pet stores they sold puppies to—at inflated prices, of course—promised only to resell them to people who would give them loving homes.”

“But of course.” I enjoyed Matt’s grin at my obvious sarcasm. “Too bad you nasty folks at Animal Services impounded them. I assume you’ll have to hang on to the whole lot as evidence in prosecuting the Shaheens, right?”

“For now. But I can assure you they’re being well cared for.”

“Can I come visit them?”

“They’re all being housed for now at a shelter in the north Valley that hasn’t had enough funding to open to the public. That way the pups can grow to adoption age in peace.”

“So . . . can I come—”

“Visit them? Sure. We’ll work out a time next week. I have an office there. But only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I want a similar pass to visit HotRescues. I’ve heard great things about it, for a private shelter. I’m always looking for new ideas for the public shelters, so maybe we can exchange suggestions.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I smiled. “And you’re right. HotRescues is a great private facility. Let’s touch base early next week to see when we’re both up for meeting?”

“Fine.”

For the rest of our time together, we talked about animal rescues in general, trading war stories.

Later, Matt reminded me of our “date” sometime next week as he held my car door open for me.

“I’m looking forward to seeing HotRescues,” he said.

Cynic that I am, I wondered if he was most eager for me to show him the spot where I’d found Efram Kiley’s dead body.

I arrived at HotRescues bright and early the next morning. I even beat Pete Engersol, usually the first there. He mostly arrived around seven A.M., even on Sunday, the better to check on the animals and start cleaning enclosures before mealtime.

My preferred hour to appear wasn’t usually until eight thirty, but it was barely six thirty now. Despite my exhaustion thanks to all that had happened, I hadn’t slept well—big surprise—and had even called the security company to make sure they were complying with their promise of extra patrols. And to ask if the cameras were all working, and whether they were monitoring them closely during hours we weren’t open. And to ask if they saw anything unusual. They assured me that all was well.

Even so, I was still considering alternatives as the result of their prior failure. A replacement security company? A person hired to be here all night?

Would Dante buy into either?

It was obviously too late to save Efram from being killed here—and to save HotRescues from being the subject of a media frenzy for reasons other than its awesome dedication to saving animals. But I still didn’t know who’d killed Efram or even how the killer and the victim had gotten onto the HotRescues property the night before last—although I gathered that it had been via the back entrance near the storage shed.

Worse, I didn’t have a clue about the killer’s motive. Did Efram die because of his ill treatment of animals? I could understand that. If it was something else, though, the animals we were caring for could be at risk.

As I parked, I considered walking into HotRescues without entering the security code. I’d test EverySecurity by letting the armed system send its silent alarm. But I wasn’t sure how helpful that would be now.

Instead, I called them again as I entered. Turned out they were genuinely on the ball, since Ed Bransom, the company’s main representative to HotRescues, got on the line fast. “Take a look at your parking lot, Lauren,” he told me. Key in hand, I’d been about to open the side door to the main building. I turned to see an officially marked EverySecurity vehicle turning in, its driver waving.

They had, in fact, been watching . . . now. Even so, they still hadn’t explained the presence of Efram and whoever killed him the night before last.