Hounds Abound (22 page)

I checked with Nina often. She checked with me.

I called Brooke to let her know what had gone on here today and told her I’d explain more when she arrived for her overnight stay.

I encouraged her, in the meantime, to check in both with our security company and with Antonio. Not that there was likely to be a rash of people stealing sick dogs and dumping them at shelters, but I hoped to file a report of some kind. It was at least a theft, and a form of animal endangerment.

But after all that searching, all my questioning, there was no indication of who John Russell really was, let alone why he had done such a thing.

I admit that I’m skeptical at times. Even cynical.

I reason things out and jump to conclusions—right or wrong.

Right now, I wasn’t merely jumping to conclusions. I was leaping to them, and they were really nasty.

I wondered who this supposed John Russell really was—old or young. I’d seen clips on TV news about crooks wearing some really lifelike masks to fool people, and some of those masks made them look like geezers. If he was young and in disguise, his spryness after giving up Miracle would be highly explainable.

Was he male or female, with his high voice?

I was probably doing more than leaping at offbeat angles now—but I wondered whether it was possible that the relinquishment of the dog with a disease that threatened not only her life but other dogs’, too, had actually been fully intentional. Perhaps it had been to get me so busy saving animals at my shelter that I wouldn’t have time to try to find Miles Frankovick’s killer.

Maybe it was even to teach me a lesson for daring to attempt to help Bella.

Yes, I was reading a lot into this situation without having any specific threat that would cause my mind to veer this way.

But several people hadn’t wanted me to help Bella. Three of them—Matt, Brooke, and Antonio—wouldn’t have done anything so mean to stop me.

But what about Kip Schaley? He seemed to be enough of an animal lover not to have done this. But what if it was a way to get me off the investigation? Did he want to help Bella to impress her? Or had he already helped her by killing Miles and was afraid I’d find out?

Or was it one of the other people I considered to be major suspects and who knew I was prying into the murder? How
about one of Miles’s colleagues in the plastic surgery office?

His family members? I’d all but eliminated them as suspects, so I doubted it.

Who, then?

Well, whoever he was, John Russell hadn’t gotten me off the investigation of Miles’s murder.

Instead, he had threatened the animals who were my charges here at HotRescues.

That only spurred me to look for the truth all the harder.

I wanted company that night, so I called Matt.

I wouldn’t tell him about the way my mind had been churning as soon as I stopped being physically active after helping to scrub down HotRescues. He’d most likely think I was nuts. Paranoid. Both. And weren’t paranoid people, by definition, nuts?

We met for dinner at that Mexican restaurant with the outdoor patio that allowed us to bring Zoey and Rex. I warned Matt, of course, about what had happened that day. But as I’d anticipated, Rex was up-to-date on his shots. Plus, after all the scrubbing we’d undertaken, I doubted that Zoey and I could be carrying anything tainted by parvo.

Matt and Rex arrived first and reserved the table for us.
When Zoey and I joined them, I got a delightful kiss hello from Matt and a sweet lick when I petted Rex. We settled down amidst a bunch of other diners. The October night air was a little chilly so the pole heaters had been turned on, making the area too warm. I maneuvered my chair until I felt comfortable. I was also closer to Matt this way, which felt good. The dogs, used to hanging out together outside restaurants and being scolded if they begged for treats, lay on the ground, occasionally staring up at us with long-suffering gazes.

Matt wore a long-sleeved blue T-shirt with a V-neck that revealed his beige Animal Services shirt beneath. I’d left my HotRescues clothes to be run through the shelter’s washing machine and had changed into jeans and a light gray sweater that was among various clothes I’d thrown into the back of my car for emergencies like this.

I ordered a kiwi margarita and Matt asked for a regular one. As we began nibbling on tortilla chips and salsa, I didn’t meet his eyes at first. I wondered if this had been a good idea.

“Tell me about it, Lauren,” he said just loud enough to be heard over conversations at nearby tables. He reached over for my empty hand, squeezing it gently in his larger, warm one.

The caring gesture brought tears to my eyes, damn it. I was stronger than this.

Usually.

I inhaled deeply, refusing to break down. I didn’t have to answer. I could smile and make small talk and just have a pleasant evening.

But this was Matt. We’d been seeing each other for a few months, friends with benefits that hovered around a lot more.

He had even been the one who had introduced me to Zoey.

“I did tell you about it,” I finally responded, looking him straight in the eye. For a second. Then I looked back down at the chips as if they’d shouted my name.

“You told me how awful things were today at HotRescues because of an owner relinquishment that went bad. I got that. But there’s more, isn’t there?”

The server came with our margaritas, which gave me time to think before responding. I took a long sip of the fruity drink, almost wishing it was straight tequila.

I could lie to Matt, but he’d see through it. And, hey, why not get sympathy from him?

Only, that wasn’t me.

“I’ve been second-guessing myself,” I blurted, again looking at him. Damn. That wasn’t me, either. This time when my eyes welled up, a few tears spilled over, and I angrily wiped them away with the back of my index finger.

“What do you mean?”

I glared at him and admitted with fury, “I’ve been wondering if you were right—Brooke, Antonio, and you.”

“About not continuing to look into Miles Frankovick’s murder?”

“What else?” I sighed, taking another gulp of margarita. “I know you all had my best interests at heart. You were sweet enough to be worried about me. But I thought I knew better. And I made my decision after Bella asked for help. The thing is …” I stopped. I was saying too much.

“Is what?” Matt prodded. There was a caring and sympathetic look on his face that I had to ignore or I’d get all emotional again.

“It’s that my stubbornness and determination may have endangered the animals at HotRescues.”

Not a good time for our meals to arrive. I had no appetite now anyway. But I had ordered a tostada salad that would have looked delicious any other time, and Matt had gotten a combo plate with tacos, beans, and rice.

As soon as our server finished fussing over us and left, Matt said, “What is it you feel guilty about, Lauren?”

“I don’t feel guilty,” I snapped back, then amended, “Okay, yes, I do.” I explained generally the way my train of thought had gone after our cleanup today, when Nina and I couldn’t find anything online or otherwise about the John Russell who’d stolen Miracle, then left her at HotRescues.

I expected Matt to laugh. It even sounded far-fetched to me.

But he didn’t. When I was done, he said, “Is Brooke at HotRescues tonight?”

I nodded.

“Good. Call her and tell her to get Antonio there, too. We have things to discuss.”

I anticipated another intervention by the three of them, this time telling me I needed psychiatric help. Or, just as likely, a big “I told you so” session, at the end of which they’d tell me again to back off. Let Bella fight by herself or rely only on her lawyer.

But sitting at the conference table upstairs in the main
HotRescues building a while later—dogs, including Brooke’s Cheyenne, again at our feet—the humans instead all expressed concern. And agreement.

“Damn. I wish I’d been here when that S.O.B. brought the dog,” Brooke said. She sat straight beside Antonio, her black security staff shirt snug against her curves. She’d apparently taken extra care with her makeup before reporting for work tonight, possibly because she knew her guy would be here, too. The highlights in her hair softly glowed under the room’s ceiling illumination. “I might have seen what he was up to—or at least I’d have taken enough notice of his car or other identifying features so we could figure him out.”

“What happened could have nothing at all to do with Miles Frankovick’s death and your nosiness about it.” Antonio drummed long fingers on the table in front of us. His scowl made his jutting brow stand out even farther than usual—and stopped me from protesting his characterization of my intense search for answers as nosiness. “But you might be right. We’re not likely to find much because you had to clean everything so thoroughly, but let me get some crime scene guys here to check for prints. Maybe they could check out the Animal Services van, too.”

“Sounds good to me.” Matt was sitting so close that our shoulders could have touched, but I kept away. I was on my own here, ready to fend off these people, who’d been on my case before.

I blinked. “Then you don’t think I’m nuts?” Or its subcategory of paranoia?

“I didn’t say that.” Matt didn’t smile despite the joking
nature of his words—or at least that’s how I’d chosen to interpret them. “But a crime’s been committed, and the thief should be apprehended.”

I hung around HotRescues till Antonio got his fingerprint collectors there. So did Matt. Since Brooke was on duty, it was no surprise that she stayed, too.

When I walked around the HotRescues grounds, I had plenty of company—Matt and Brooke, at least. Antonio stayed in the front to wait for the people he’d called.

I wanted to stop at every kennel and ask the dogs how they were feeling.

By the time we returned to the front building, the crime scene techs had arrived.

There wouldn’t be any immediate results, I was warned. And even if they identified the horrible person who had stolen Miracle and left her here, there was no link to Miles’s killing that anyone else would necessarily glom onto. But I felt relieved and vindicated that these people whom I cared about—and who all knew something about bad guys—might be taking my way-out-there concerns seriously.

Matt and Rex came home with Zoey and me that night. I almost felt schizophrenic in addition to my other psychological self-diagnoses, the way my mood had gone from dark and miserable to lighter and redeemed.

None of that was like me. I hated feeling all those
extreme emotions. I was the kind of person who was always in charge, of everything around me and, most of all, myself.

But having Matt in bed with me that night did a lot to keep my mind from dwelling on the stress.

And in the morning, when we all, dogs included, once more did a marathon rehearsal in my sunlit residential community, I felt at peace again. Myself, renewed.

I had several goals now. I still intended to find out what really happened to Miles Frankovick and exonerate Bella, assuming she wasn’t guilty. I knew she hadn’t been involved with the theft and relinquishing of Miracle, at least, which convinced me even more of her innocence.

And that was my second goal—finding out who did leave that poor sick pup at HotRescues.

Which all blended and churned into a related goal: determining whether my paranoia was rooted in fact, whether the first two were part of the same batter, all baked into a single felonious cake that combined murder, theft, and animal endangerment.

I would accomplish all of these objectives, along with all the other tasks I’d set for myself, like taking excellent care of all the animals at HotRescues. And if I was right, and the person who’d left Miracle on our doorstep was also the killer, I would have the pleasure of accomplishing something very special for myself in addition to helping Bella.

Matt and Rex went one direction after the humans had showered and eaten a low-effort breakfast of cereal and milk, and Zoey and I went another.

I fed Rex along with Zoey. The kibble I used was good stuff, and Rex enjoyed it, too.

At HotRescues, I arrived early enough to say good-bye to Brooke and to thank her again for her dedication to HotRescues and to helping her boss here—me.

“You’re welcome.” She smiled impishly. “So … when are you going to ask Dante to give me a raise?”

I laughed. “Maybe after I ask for one for myself.”

I was kidding. Dante was generous. I couldn’t complain about my salary, or the bonuses he gave me when I needed them—like to help finance my kids going to college.

I would keep him up-to-date about all that was going on here, including more about the parvo incident and the fact that the cops would look into it because of the related theft, if nothing else.

I would also suggest a salary increase for Brooke, though I figured she was kidding, too.

“Does Antonio know when we might get fingerprint results?”

“Soon was all he said. I’ll keep you up-to-date.”

“Thanks. How late did he stay?”

Her usually pink complexion grew rosy. “He—”

“Never mind,” I said. “Your look tells me more than I want to know. Everyone here look okay?”