Oodles of Poodles (6 page)

“This is all so weird,” Jerry said. I’d considered him an eager young kid before. Now, his sandy hair looked askew and his long face was pale and drawn. Everything about him, appearance and demeanor, was obviously strained.

In his charge was Sheba Number One, the poodle whose name really was Sheba. I had a younger white poodle—Blanca, who was used in the puppy shots. Elena walked another adult poodle, Stellar, who was trained more for rolling over and acting scared than the other Sheba lookalikes.

“This is only the second film where I’ve been involved in production, though I’ve also worked on a few TV shows,” Jerry continued as we passed the last truck and could finally see the street. “I can’t believe what happened.”

The traffic was backed up. Was it because the restaurants and clothing and gift shops to our right were busy, or because looky-loos were trying to see what they could about the nearby death? I wasn’t sure.

“It’s an omen,” Jerry went on. “That’s what some people would say. All of us who’re working on
Sheba’s Story
may be doomed. Not the dogs, though. I hope.”

“Don’t be silly,” Elena said softly. “Relax, Jerry. It’s okay.”
She patted his arm, and he visibly seemed to calm down.

I assumed Elena was a wannabe star like so many involved in the production—or at least she looked pretty enough to go in front of a camera. She was of moderate height, slim and busty with a smooth complexion and full, pink lips. “Whatever happened to Hans, no matter how he was killed, the only effect it’ll have on the rest of us people—and dogs—will be how our filming schedule gets changed. They’ll have to name a new director, but this film has already gotten a lot of good media hype. It’ll go forward, you’ll see. And we’ll all be fine. Especially you, Stellar.” She knelt and hugged the poodle at the end of her leash.

Wannabe actor or not, Elena appeared good at her current assignment. Stellar thought so, too. She rose on her hind legs and gave Elena a doggy kiss right on the nose.

“Maybe.” Jerry didn’t sound convinced, but he didn’t seem nearly as tense as he dropped back to walk beside me. “Do you have any poodles at your shelter, Ms. Vancouver?”

“I’m Lauren,” I told him, appreciating his politeness but wanting to seem friendly to these kids. “There aren’t any poodles at HotRescues right now, but we sometimes rescue them and have them available for adoption just like all our dogs and cats. Poodle mixes, too. And every type of poodle—miniature, toy, and standard sizes of all colors, not just white like this crew. Do you know anyone who’s interested in adopting?”

That was a question I asked often in almost any circumstance. It was always fascinating to hear how many people said yes—and some even referred people to us who did
eventually take a pet home. After I approved their situation, of course.

“I might myself,” Jerry said. “Assuming Elena’s right and I do survive this filming. I’ve worked with animals a lot lately since that’s where there’s been a need on some of the productions I’ve helped with. I’ve always liked dogs but haven’t had one since I was a kid. My apartment building allows pets—and I may just want to take one of these guys home with me. Especially since they shouldn’t be in any dangerous scenes now.”

“I applaud you, then.” I clapped my hands despite holding the end of the leash in one. “I understand that at least some of the dogs who’re appearing in
Sheba’s Story
were rescued expressly for the purpose of filming them but they won’t be returned to the public shelters—not with all the bad publicity that would generate. They’ll be needing homes when the production’s done. I may be asked to help.” In fact, that was something I knew Dante would insist on. “Maybe I can help you adopt one later.”

“Really? Oh, thank you.” The young guy stood still, grinning at me, and I wondered if I was about to get a hug. Not appropriate here, but if it helped to get a needy dog a new home I’d be glad to oblige.

Instead, he started walking again. So did Elena and I, and our three white poodles strutted in front of us. I saw smiles on faces of other pedestrians along the street and smiled back. No doubt we made a fun appearance.

“How about you, Elena?” I asked. “Do you have any pets?”

“Not right now.” She was on my other side, and when I glanced toward her she didn’t meet my gaze. I gathered that adoption wasn’t currently something she planned.

“Well, if you ever—” I began, but my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket. It was Carlie.

“Hi,” I said. “Guess where I am right now.”

“I don’t give a damn, Lauren. How could you?”

I stopped walking, feeling my eyes burn as I held my young poodle, Blanca, back with one hand and clutched the phone with the other. “How could I what?” I hated that my voice rasped, but I felt almost as if Carlie had struck me.

It only got worse—when she hit me with, “You told the cops that I argued with Hans Marford. That I could have killed him. Why would you do that, Lauren? I thought you help to clear your friends of allegations of murder, not accuse them yourself.”

Chapter 5

I was flabbergasted. Should I apologize to Carlie?

I wasn’t good at apologies. Besides, I hadn’t done anything wrong. I certainly hadn’t accused her.

I tried to tell her so. “I’m not sure who you talked to, Carlie, but if they said—”

I got no further. I realized the line was dead. She had hung up.

And I felt terrible.

I called Dante as soon as I got into my car a few minutes later, ignoring how bad I felt about Carlie and her unwarranted anger toward me.

I also ignored the crowd of people who milled around obviously hoping for insight into what had gone on here last
night. Some were probably just curious. Others were clearly reporters for who-knew-which media—probably all of them, considering how many cameras were wielded. The news was never quiet about anything that could be sensationalized, and a killing on a movie set would undoubtedly keep the media jackals howling for a long time.

Dante had already heard the news. “I just got out of a meeting,” he said as I looked out my windshield to find I was being stared at. I almost wanted to shout that I was nobody and I wasn’t involved. Which in a way was only half true. “I was going to call you,” he continued. “Glad you got to me first. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I told him honestly, wishing I had some hot coffee. Better yet, something stronger.

It was mid-afternoon, so I could possibly justify a medicinal glass of wine to calm my sparking nerves. Not when I was about to drive my car, though. I just sat back in the driver’s seat and closed my eyes.

“Things got a little tense here yesterday,” I said, “when it looked like Hans was going to ease up on some of the protective measures that had been agreed on to make sure the dogs weren’t hurt, but the actual filming was executed relatively safely—although I had concerns about the last take.”

“Who did he argue with?” Dante was always perceptive. I hadn’t mentioned an argument. There hadn’t really been one. But there had clearly been some disagreement.

“No one, not exactly. But the American Humane representative and Hans faced off a little. I don’t see that as being a motive for murder.”

“Anyone else in the argument…er, disagreement?” I could almost see the ironic smile on Dante’s nice-looking
face—or at least it was nice looking when he wasn’t frowning his irritation at someone who was causing him trouble or arguing with him. He liked being in charge and wasn’t afraid to show it.

I hated to bring up Carlie again, especially after the way she had reacted earlier. But this was Dante, my boss. And, as I said, he was astute. He might be peeved if he later learned from another source about Carlie’s presence during the disagreement. “Well…Carlie wasn’t thrilled about the direction Hans appeared to be taking. But I wouldn’t say she exactly argued with him.” I wouldn’t say that she didn’t exactly, either.

“I was actually referring to you. You’re not about to become a murder suspect again, are you, Lauren?”

My eyes popped wider. “Heavens, no!” At least I didn’t think so. I hoped not. I had never wanted to be in that position the first time, let alone a second…or third.

“Just checking. Okay, keep me informed if you learn anything. Especially…” His voice trailed off, but I knew that was a cue he expected me to react to.

I inhaled deeply as I said, “Especially what?”

“Especially if you decide to stick your nose into this situation and try to sniff out a murderer again. In fact, since I’ve got money tied up in this production, I wouldn’t discourage it. Not with your success rate.”

He hung up before I had an opportunity to shout out, “No way!”

I drove home to get Zoey. I’d left her there by herself that morning when I’d dashed off to the crime scene—after letting
her outside and feeding her, of course. But she was used to a lot more attention than that.

After I changed into my blue HotRescues shirt, I took Zoey out for a very brief walk, and then she accompanied me to my shelter. We got there as fast as I could safely drive. No matter what had happened regarding the filming of
Sheba’s Story
, and no matter what Dante’s position was, I had responsibilities there—ones that might even help to take my mind off Hans’s apparent murder.

Of course the word was out. When I walked into the welcome room, Nina was behind the desk. “What happened, Lauren?” She stood and looked at me with concern. Zoey dashed over to say hi and Nina knelt briefly to pat her, still watching me with sympathy from beneath her straight brown bangs.

“You can believe some of what’s been on the news,” I informed her. “Hans Marford is dead, and the police are saying it was a homicide.”

“Murder?”

“That’s the way they seem to be heading. He was the victim of a hit-and-run.” Some of the newscasts had also said the car was one associated with the film, and that it had been abandoned on a nearby street.

“What happens to
Sheba’s Story
?” She bit her lip as if waiting for the worst news possible about the production.

“Far as I know, the old saying ‘The show must go on’ will apply, but I don’t know when or how, or who’ll be the director.”

“So whodunit this time?” The voice came from the doorway into the HotRescues shelter area. It was Dr. Mona Harvey, and the question was not one I’d expect from
our part-time shrink who helped to screen potential adopters.

As usual, she was dressed professionally, not in our standard HotRescues garb for staff members but a doctor-appropriate beige dress. Her hair was short, light brown with even lighter highlights, and she wore glasses. Her outfit was accessorized today by the small black kitten she held in her arms.

“You’re the psychologist.” I took a few steps toward her as Zoey did the same to sniff at the kitty. “You tell me.”

“Sure, if you give me an accurate profile of everyone on that movie set. And everyone else who might have had a grudge against Mr. Marford. And—”

“I get it.” I hadn’t thought I’d be in the mood to smile for a while, but I did anyway.

Our staff handyman, Pete Engersol, was the next to start questioning me, as soon as I got past Mona and Nina and into the HotRescues yard. Behind the thin yet strong senior citizen were a few of our volunteers, listening intently. Even the dogs in the kennels on either side of us seemed to watch with interest.

I wondered if I should call an all-hands meeting in the conference room on the second floor of our main building and impart everything I knew so far—to people only—which wasn’t much.

“Honestly, I don’t know what happened other than the fact that the director of
Sheba’s Story
was killed last night,” I said loud enough for everyone to hear. “If I learn anything I think you should all know, I’ll tell you. Okay?” I didn’t wait for a response. “Now, everyone, we’ve got animals to take care of. Please get back to it!”

“Okay, Lauren,” Pete said.

No one disagreed, although Mamie Spelling, our most senior volunteer who was also once my mentor—and, later, a reformed animal hoarder—came over and patted my arm. “You seem upset, Lauren, dear. Would you like a hug?” She was short, with curly red hair and a sometimes distant smile.

“I sure would,” I said and shared a hug with the small, frail woman.

She came with me as I started my afternoon walk-through of the shelter. All of the kennels near the entryway were filled, as always, since that was where potential adopters saw our inhabitants first. Those in the back, around the corner in the recently acquired and built-out property, had some vacancies. So did the cat house and the building for small dogs and puppies, which were also in the back.

It would soon be time for us to do a rescue at a public shelter. I’d have to let Matt know and have him suggest which one to visit.

I enjoyed peering into the glass-fronted kennels and seeing some of our volunteers, new ones and old-timers, sitting on the ground with our dogs, socializing them for human bonding by playing with them. Talking to them. Letting them enjoy the company for as long as possible.

Some of our residents had only been here a short while. Others were long-timers, and some were in between.