Hounds Abound (30 page)

I’d also had to call my kids since they were aware I was friends with the director at Save’Em. So far I hadn’t seen my name mentioned in any stories, thank heavens. But my kids were smart like their mom. They’d make assumptions about my involvement, so I’d wanted to reassure them before they had any opportunity to worry.

That was when Brooke had called. Antonio wanted to fill us in over dinner about some additional information the authorities had gotten from, and on, Vic Drammon. And, yes, Matt was welcome to join us, too.

We planned to meet at a quiet Italian restaurant on Devonshire, south of HotRescues’ location on Rinaldi. I could hardly wait.

Brooke came to HotRescues first, though, to leave Cheyenne while we ate. Glad that Zoey would have company, I left her there, too, in the second-floor apartment in the center building where Cheyenne would hang out.

Brooke pulled a light blue sweatshirt on over her black HotRescues security uniform for our outing. Her amber eyes glowed as if she had had something to do with the arrest of the person who’d committed murder and had been tormenting HotRescues. In fact, she did have something to do with it. She was the one dating an LAPD detective who had potentially risked his job to help catch this murderer.
Hanging out with a potentially ditzy woman trying to do a cop’s job probably wasn’t in his best professional interest, especially if I’d been wrong.

But I wasn’t—exactly. Even if we’d caught a different suspect than I’d originally thought, Antonio had helped to nab the real killer.

I felt vindicated, too. More like my ever-confident self.

If Antonio had told Brooke anything in advance, though, she wasn’t about to relate it to me. “I don’t know much more than you do.” She sounded exasperated as I continued to press her for answers while she drove us to the restaurant. “Antonio will tell all of us everything.”

Matt got there first, reserving us a table. He was wearing a nice shirt and slacks, not his Animal Services uniform, as if this was a social event, a double date. In a way it was—though it would provide most of us some potentially interesting information.

The guy looked good. I liked the way he kept glaring at me, too, with those hot, toasty eyes. It reminded me of the spanking comment. On the other hand, I figured he still wanted to shake some of what he considered sense into me. Too bad. I had plenty of it. I’d come out of this situation just fine, hadn’t I?

We sat down and ordered a bottle of the house Chianti. Brooke had promised not to drink much. Though her health had improved, she was the security person on duty at HotRescues that night so she had to be alert. She didn’t know whether Antonio would still be on duty, so the group might have to rely on Matt and me to drink most of the wine.

Fine by me.

Antonio soon arrived. He’d apparently put on a suit
once more but the jacket was off, and he had rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt. He gave Brooke a quick kiss, then sat down. He seemed pleased to get a glass of wine immediately, although he soon ordered his own beer. He obviously was not on duty now.

When crusty rolls and a creamy Parmesan cheese spread were brought to the table after we ordered, Antonio finally got down to business, telling us what he had learned about the continuing investigation into Drammon.

“You understand, of course, that this can go no further. We’re still collecting evidence and some of this is speculation based on what the guy has said. He’s lawyered up now and not talking any more, but taking what he said before with what we’d learned from others, plus some preliminary checking into what he’d revealed—”

“Yeah, we got it,” Matt interrupted. “We won’t talk about this except among ourselves. Right, ladies?”

Brooke and I looked at each other. “Yes, sir,” she said.

“Ditto,” came from me.

“So some of this you know.” Antonio leaned forward conspiratorially. “It started with Dr. Victor Drammon skimming profits from his veterinary clinic and hiding it from his partners.”

Intriguing. This might be the reason that the facility looked so run-down—not enough funds available to keep it looking as spiffy as a near–Beverly Hills veterinary hospital should be.

“The guy was in love with Bella Frankovick. He was in love with gambling even more. He visited the Hustler Casino in Gardena with almost as much frequency as he did his veterinary clinic.”

Antonio continued his narrative. Unsurprisingly, the casino got more money out of the relationship than Vic did. To fund his gambling addiction, Vic stole from his clinic. One night he was out drinking with Miles, hearing how awful the soon-to-be divorced guy felt about the still unresolved financial issues in ending his marriage. Miles claimed Bella had stolen from him and would continue to forever. They’d both over-imbibed and Vic admitted to his own problem.

Miles decided to use it against him. Went gambling with him but instead of losing big, gained even bigger by taking photos of Vic at the tables.

“Even though they were buddies, Vic eventually became furious that Miles kept giving Bella a hard time and came to confront him,” Antonio continued. “Instead, Miles confronted
him
. Told him he had pictures of him gambling away his clinic’s profits. He blackmailed Vic into doing those interviews dissing what Save Them All Sanctuary was all about. And then, when Vic said he’d done it and they were even, Miles demanded more, including money that Vic didn’t have. Otherwise, Vic’s partners would learn why their clinic wasn’t earning them all the proceeds they thought they were bringing in.”

“And that didn’t make Vic happy,” Brooke interrupted.

Antonio’s rough features lightened into a fond smile as he continued, “That’s an understatement. He was furious.”

And desperate, Antonio continued. He had actually loved Bella and now knew that would be impossible to follow up on. That was Miles’s fault. So was the peril hanging over his ongoing relationship with his veterinary partners. In his mind, it had to stop.

With a knife in Miles’s chest. Vic hadn’t necessarily wanted to pin it on Bella, but he held out no hope that they’d ever get together, and it was better that she be blamed than him.

He knew Miles had gone to Save’Em a few times before and lured him there that night with a promise he would show him something he could use against Bella in his quest to take back his money.

“Amazing,” I said. “It’s all so close to what I suspected.” At least what I ultimately suspected, after I’d decided to confront Vic earlier that day. Not that I knew about the gambling problem. But I figured Vic would have had some reason, logical or not.

“You’ve gotten all this from him in—what?” Matt looked at his watch. “Eight, nine hours?”

“Like I said, it’s a lot of speculation,” Antonio said.

“Based on facts and reality,” I said, defending him.

“And your nosiness,” Matt grumbled, but I tossed him a huge, smug grin.

“And my shrewdness and perseverance,” I countered. “And love for animals. And—”

“We got it.” Matt was the one to smile now. A sexy enough smile to tell me he just might want to pick up Rex and spend the night at my place.

“Now all you and your gang have to do,” Brooke said to Antonio, “is gather all the evidence you need to convict the jerk.”

“No problem,” he said. Was that sarcasm I heard in his tone? “One thing, though.” He looked at me. “We did find his contact in Animal Services—with some help.” He nodded sideways toward Matt, who grinned and shrugged.

“Meaning?” I asked

“Meaning Drammon learned about the outbreak of parvo at one of the public shelters from someone who’d used his veterinary services before, but he said he was too busy to help—and recommended Carlie’s clinic.”

I sat up straighter. “Then he knew when the sick pups would be dropped off so he could steal one, then relinquish it at HotRescues as a warning to me.”

“You got it,” Antonio said.

I certainly did.

I imagined that a lot of storefront business owners along Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood were peeved.

It was the day of the HotPets marathon, and about six miles of it were closed to road traffic.

On the other hand, there were a lot of people on the sidewalks, ready to watch the runners and their leashed dogs attempt to make it to the finish line. They had probably brought money for food and even clothing if they got bored waiting for the race to begin.

Reaching the finish line was my only aspiration. I didn’t need to win. I just needed to complete the race. That way, Dante would make good on his pledge to endow HotRescues with even more funds than his already generous donations.

The marathon had been Dante’s idea, to call attention to
homeless animals and the shelters that saved them. Everyone running had been required to solicit donations for the animal shelter of their choice. Dante himself had made a pledge to help Save Them All Sanctuary and other shelters he’d discussed with me, as long as the people who had signed up as their team members finished, too.

Plus, I’d gotten other donors to make pledges—thanks to contacts at the Southern California Rescuers Web site. A few other shelter administrators were also running. We’d all shared info about who might provide donations, so all was good.

And, yes, it was also about me. I had taken on this challenge, a different one for me. But when I decided to accept any challenge, I met it.

Like finding Miles Frankovick’s killer.

Right now, I stood at the corner of Santa Monica and La Cienega at seven thirty in the morning with hundreds of other people, most of whom had also brought their dogs. This was, after all, a marathon to benefit pet rescue, to encourage spaying and neutering, the works. The crowd sounds were loud and enthusiastic, including the barking of some of the dog entrants.

The dogs were of all sizes, from Chihuahuas to Great Danes, and those in between like my Zoey and Matt’s Rex. Fortunately, the canines seemed to get along okay—maybe unlike their rowdy, competitive owners. I figured the smallest dogs’ owners would carry them through some of the race, but maybe some were hardy enough to tough it out. And everyone was advised to drop out if their dogs got too tired to continue.

“You look good,” Matt told me. I’d donned a running
outfit of loose blue shorts and a tank top. The number 47 hung around my neck, and he wore a 48 over his yellow T-shirt, which did a great job of hugging his muscles.

“You, too.”

To my surprise, Brooke and Antonio were also participating. Brooke had designated one of her security-staff employees to keep an eye on HotRescues last night so she could sleep. She had brought Cheyenne, of course.

Antonio still wasn’t owned by a dog, at least not yet. I suspected that Brooke and he would unite into even more of an item soon, so he’d become part of that family. Just in case, though, I’d suggested that Brooke start working on him to adopt from HotRescues. He lived in the bottom floor of a town house in the Valley and had a yard. On the other hand, his job came with a lot of time pressures, and leaving a dog alone for long periods wasn’t a good idea. Two dogs, so they’d have a pack? That depended. We’d just have to see how things worked out.

Both had dressed appropriately. Brooke was very thin in her light clothing, but that was the sole indication she’d had health issues. She would run only as long as she comfortably could but wouldn’t push herself to finish.

Antonio the cop was in almost as great physical condition as Matt. His number and Brooke’s were both in the eighties.

We’d all be exhausted when this was over. Even so, Zoey and I would spend the afternoon at HotRescues—probably just vegging out in my office. Maybe even napping. Later? Well, Matt and I planned to have dinner together, and others would join us, including Carlie and her guy Liam. Then we would go to my place to watch the
episode of Carlie’s
Pet Fitness
on TV that featured Save Them All Sanctuary: “Hug’Em at Save’Em.” I couldn’t wait!

Half an hour till the race began. I’d been given periodic updates into what was happening after Dr. Vic Drammon’s arrest, but this was a good opportunity to jab for more.

“So, Antonio.” I squinted up into his face despite the bright Southern California sun over his shoulder.

He held up his hand. “Before you ask about the Miles Frankovick murder investigation—”

“Aw, come on. Anything new?” At the unyielding expression on his craggy face, I glanced my plea toward Brooke.

She took his hand with the one of hers not grasping Cheyenne’s leash. She looked up and batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated flirtation that wasn’t intended to get Antonio’s testosterone going—or at least I didn’t think so.

But it was enough to make him smile. And give in.

He waved for us to join him nearer the closest store, one that appropriately sold athletic shoes. Not as many people stood there, so he could talk with less possibility of eavesdropping.

“Everything I told you before?” he began. “Consider it nearly engraved in stone. We’re still working on evidence but think it’s just a matter of time.”

The cops had used a warrant to check out Vic Drammon’s home and veterinary clinic. Although it wasn’t conclusive, there were knives in both from the same manufacturer as the murder weapon—and some of Vic’s hospital subordinates indicated he’d brought them in.