Beaglemania (26 page)

Almost immediately, when we went inside toting the crates, Pete Engersol met us, his well-worn features brightening. “Are these our first rescues from the puppy mill?”

“They sure are,” I responded with pride, setting the crate I held down on the pavement. The nearest dogs became sentinels and barked a greeting and warning to the newcomers, soon taken up by other residents. I watched as the Boston cringed, then noticed the same with the beagle as Kevin put her crate down.

The Boston. The beagle. If they’d had names before, no one had passed them along to us. We’d give them new ones soon, even if they didn’t stick.

“Have you gotten a place ready for them?” I asked Pete.

Pete, as our all-around go-to guy, was the first one I checked with when we had an out-of-the-ordinary situation to deal with. He’d vowed to make sure our usual temporary hospital quarters inside the center building were in good shape to take on these newcomers.

“Absolutely.”

He bent down and opened the Boston’s crate, lifting her out and slipping a collar around her neck, then attaching a leash. He hugged her. “Hi, little lady. Welcome.”

Kevin got the beagle out and put on another similar leash that Pete had brought. We both followed Pete along the path to the center building. The two dogs apparently weren’t used to tethers and balked at first but soon appeared to decide it was easier to go along with us than to feel more pressure around their necks—not much, of course. Kevin and Pete were careful not to choke them.

Inside, Angie Shayde, our veterinary technician, waited along with Si Rogan. It was too soon for Si to have much contact with these rescuees. Making sure they were pampered with all the care they needed to restore their health was the number-one priority. Retraining would wait for the future.

“Let me see those babies,” Angie said. One under each arm, she took them both into the infirmary set up on the second floor. I followed and motioned for Kevin to join us. Pete and Si came along as well.

We watched as Angie did her magic, examining them. I handed her some paperwork that Carlie had given me, with her diagnosis and prognosis and suggestions for care. Angie read them over. “Great!” she said. “Pete, we’re going to put them on a special diet for a while. Can you run to the HotPets store and pick up the things on the list I’ll give you?”

“Sure will.”

Of course there was a HotPets not far away. That was one of the criteria for picking this location for HotRescues—near one of Dante’s official retail outlets. This way, the food supplies could be dropped off by delivery vans going to the HotPets in Chatsworth, about a mile from here.

These two would be in quarantine for at least a week to ten days, as we did with all our rescue animals. That minimized the possibility of their passing diseases to other residents. Even a veterinary exam didn’t always discover all problems. Of course the humans who’d visit them would always use antibacterial hand cleanser before and after touching them. We all did that before and after touching cats, too, since they seemed more prone to catching things from one another than dogs did.

Right now, knowing the dogs were in excellent hands, I motioned to Kevin, and we walked downstairs. I needed to go to my office and start the official files on these two rescue animals.

It would help, though, if they had names.

I said so out loud as we exited onto the walkway and started toward the main building, with the dogs whose enclosures we passed barking their greetings all over again.

At the last kennel, I looked in at Honey and stopped for a pat—as did Kevin. Were those people who seemed to fall so hard for her yesterday coming back to adopt her? I hoped so, for her sake. But I’d miss her.

“How about Missy and Sweety for the dogs’ names?” said Si. I hadn’t realized he had followed us from the infirmary area. “For now, at least.”

“Not bad,” I said. “For our use, anyway.” Had he been the one who’d named Honey? I couldn’t recall for sure, but it fit.

We’d reached the main building, and I shooed Kevin through the gate, making sure that none of our inhabitants were loose and ready to sneak through. Then Si held it for me. I assumed he was staying in the shelter area, but he joined us on the other side, obviously cautious to ensure no one followed us out.

We went into the welcome room. My intent was to make a few notes to start the new rescue file on each of them, then turn it over to Nina. She was there greeting visitors. So was Ricki.

Matt Kingston was one of those visitors.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“I wanted to make sure you got those two dogs you picked up here okay, see how they’re being treated, that kind of thing.” I suspected that the real “kind of thing” was to check on me, see how I was handling these two new residents whose former ill-treatment had been such anathema to me. I’d certainly cried about them yesterday—all over Matt.

Not especially the image I’d wanted to portray of the calm, collected, and organized shelter administrator who’d seen it all and would do anything to prevent it from happening again.

“They’re doing as well as can be expected,” I told him. “Our veterinary tech is getting them acclimated to the area where they’ll stay for now.”

“Sounds good. Will you show me?”

Whatever his intentions, he wasn’t going to give up until he had seen those two dogs.

“Why not? Kevin, why don’t you tell Nina all the information she asks to start up our files on . . . Missy and Sweety.” I glanced my thanks at Si, who nodded. “By the way, Matt,” I said. “This is my son, Kevin.” That ought to do it for any semblance of attraction Matt might think he felt for me. A mother of a teenage kid? Not exactly a hottie.

They shook hands, and then I took Matt back to visit with the dogs. Si stayed behind to talk to Mona, who’d just come in.

When Matt and I returned, there was a visitor in the reception area—someone who looked vaguely familiar. I realized who she was when I saw that there was a guy outside the window who held a large video camera.

She was a reporter for some tabloid show on TV.

I’d been fairly lucky so far, all things considered. I was a murder suspect. I’d also been the victim of a nasty crime that resulted in being stabbed—never mind that I was suspected of doing that myself. Unfortunately, it had all made the news, but I’d managed to stay pretty much off camera after the first wave of YouTube.

I didn’t always discourage the media. The more publicity HotRescues had, the more visitors and, hopefully, the more adoptions we’d experience.

But I didn’t think that was why this reporter was here.

“Hi,” she said. “My name is Corina Carey. I’m here to ask you a few questions, Lauren. I’m with
National News-Shakers
.”

“How nice to meet you, Ms. Carey,” I lied, noticing that Matt had disappeared. Obviously he didn’t want to meet her, either. “Would you like a tour of our facilities? We have some really wonderful animals who need homes, pets your viewers will fall in love with.” I projected so much gushiness that she could have scraped whipped cream from my body.

“That would be fine,” she said. “Also, if you could point out the dogs you just brought from the city shelter, the ones who were part of that puppy mill rescue the other day, that would be wonderful.”

How had she heard so fast that they were here? No matter. Maybe giving Sweety and Missy some on-air coverage would help their futures—once they were given veterinary clearance for adoption.

Despite the way showing her around felt like anticipating nonstop torture, I managed to give Corina Carey a brief but—at least I felt—heart-wrenching tour of HotRescues. Including an introduction to our two newest inhabitants. All caught on camera by the guy with her.

She left soon after. I returned to the welcome area, where Kevin was working on the main computer. I guessed he was filling out the initial data himself.

Matt had reappeared and was looking over Kevin’s shoulder, making suggestions.

Si, Mona, Pete, and Angie all followed me from the shelter area. Did everyone around here hope to be featured in whatever kind of media event Ms. Carey was going to derive from her visit?

“Okay, gang,” I said. “I’m going home to spend some time with Kevin. Tracy should be there by now, too. Call me if anything comes up, and I’ll be back for a while this afternoon.”

“Can I see you for a minute before you go?” Matt said.

I hesitated. Was he going to bawl me out for going along with that reporter? Was he okay with how our newcomers were being handled?

The look on his face seemed more interested than angry, so I said, “Sure. Come into my office for a minute.”

He did. Once we were alone there, with the door shut, I was astounded when he took me into his arms. So surprised that I didn’t resist when he kissed me. Talk about surprise—I really enjoyed it. Even kissed him back.

“What’s that for?” I demanded breathlessly, my voice low.

“For rescuing those dogs. And for running such a good private shelter. And—”

“And?” I prompted.

“Just because I felt like it.” He smiled, opened the door, and left.

I got a call on my cell phone that afternoon from James Remseyer, Efram’s former lawyer. “What do you think you’re doing, Ms. Vancouver?” he demanded.

“I think I’m having a pleasant afternoon with my family,” I responded between clenched teeth. “At least I was.”

I was sitting in my kitchen at the oval wood table, watching my daughter bake cookies. I’d taught her well. We’d bought the premade dough from the supermarket, and Tracy was slicing it on a cutting board on top of the tile counter and putting it on a cookie sheet before sticking it into the oven.

My daughter resembled me, as Kevin looked like his dad. She was moderate height and slender, and wore her dark brown hair shoulder length. Like me, her eyes were green.

Kevin was outside mowing the lawn, wonderful young man that he was. The groan of the lawnmower harmonized with my unwelcome phone conversation.

“Have you seen
National NewsShakers
today?” Remseyer continued.

“No, but I assume, since you brought it up, that HotRescues is mentioned. A reporter came to visit us, and I spoke with her since I wanted to tell the world about all the charming animals we have there, waiting for new homes.”

“Well, she talked primarily about the two allegedly from the puppy mill. She defamed my client, Efram Kiley, which is especially heinous since he isn’t around now to defend himself. She also implied that his friends and family were as unsavory as she claimed he was. I’m calling on behalf of Efram’s estate.”

What? Efram had an estate? He’d left some money?

I’d assumed he had spent everything Dante had paid in compensation for his supposed rehabilitation.

Or maybe his “estate” was a euphemism for a claim Remseyer might make against someone for the defamation he was asserting. He all but confirmed the latter.

“You must understand, Ms. Vancouver, how upset Efram’s stepmother Mandy Ledinger and his girlfriend Shellie Benudo are. They both called me, aghast after seeing that untrue news report, and retained me to make claims against the news station and HotRescues and their respective personnel. I would suggest that you make certain that the newspeople retract any actionable statements.”

“Actionable like what?” I noticed Tracy staring at me with concern and shook my head with a barely tolerant smile, as if what I was hearing was too stupid to worry about.

“You should watch the broadcast and see how they’ve quoted you. I won’t attempt to restate anything, but you are cited as having alleged animal torture by Efram and everyone he ever knew, such as my clients. And me.”

Ah. That had to be the crux of it. The lawyer was worried about his own reputation, at least among clients who might care whether animals were abused.

“I suspect I was misquoted,” I said, “although frankly I loathe anyone who even tolerates animal cruelty. Do you tolerate it, Mr. Remseyer?”

“Heavens, no. But I suspect even those two dogs you brought to your shelter allegedly because they were too ill to make it in a public facility aren’t as bad off as you made them out to be. I could have a veterinarian I sometimes retain as a consultant take a look at them.”

“No, thank you.”

“Are you with them now? Are you at HotRescues?”

“Like I said, I’m home with my kids now.” But was he asking because he wanted to know if my charges were alone and defenseless, so he could sic the vet in his back pocket on them? Maybe make claims that we were abusing animals?

I might be stretching things, but I certainly had no reason to trust this lawyer.

I continued quickly, “I’ll be back there very shortly, though. Joining my staff. And I’ll be there late enough to ensure that our new residents do well on their first night at HotRescues. So will other people. You can be sure, Mr. Remseyer, that I’ll watch
National NewsShakers
. If the reporter says I’ve claimed that Efram abused the poor creatures in the puppy mill, that’s true. I’d also stand by any claims that, if his friends and family”—and lawyer—“knew about it and did nothing, they were nearly as guilty as him and deserve a fate like his. Being arrested, I mean.”