The More the Terrier (18 page)

Chapter 24

I agreed to drive, since my car was right there, in the parking area near the walkway from the porch. Miguel said his was in a garage behind the building.

I’d hoped to do another walk-through of the shelter area while I was there that day, not because I figured any animals were being mistreated, but because seeing residents was always important to me when I visited a rescue facility. It hadn’t worked out this time, but I’d probably be back. Soon.

Plus, I needed the final count of how many animals the members of PST could take in from the hoarding release. Kathy Georgio had already promised to take in as many as five dogs and an equal number of cats.

“Nice car,” Miguel said as he got into the passenger seat of my Venza.

“Thanks.” I wondered whether he was just trying to put me at ease before he killed me, as he’d done with Bethany.

Yes, I was suspicious of him, but levelheaded as well. If he wasn’t trying to kill me, he might help me narrow down suspects, assuming I could subtly move our conversation that direction. Besides, he was aware that Cricket knew we were planning on getting a drink. It’d be stupid to harm me when a witness could tell the cops we left together—especially a witness who didn’t seem to like him.

Unless it was an act, Cricket and Miguel were lovers, and they’d both planned to get rid of me this way . . .

I don’t usually have a murderous imagination. I doubted that either of these people believed I had zeroed in on them as favored suspects in Bethany’s murder. My stupid musings were getting me nowhere.

I pulled the car onto the road. “Where are we going?”

“An Irish pub okay with you?”

It was fine, and the only speaking we did for the next few minutes involved his guiding me to our destination, O’Henry’s on Century Boulevard, located inside a shopping center. I parked and we headed for the small bar.

Although it was busy, the crowd seemed tamer than I was used to seeing in pubs—or maybe it was a time that there were no sports of interest that could be shown on the TVs mounted high on the walls. The lighting was muted, and nearly all the tables were occupied. We sat at a small table and both ordered Guinness beers imported from the host country, Ireland. Miguel, despite being a waiter by profession, seemed quite at home as a euphemistically called “guest” instead.

“So,” Miguel said when our server had left. “You still think I killed Bethany, don’t you? But you’re wise enough to check into other possibilities, in case the cops don’t ultimately see things your way.”

I felt myself blink at him, as if he’d suddenly found a way to copy a page of my thoughts onto a computer and print it out. “I haven’t drawn any conclusions yet,” I told him, then added honestly, “and I find it really frustrating.”

He laughed. I could see why Bethany had chosen this younger man as her boyfriend. He wasn’t just cute and sexy, with his dark, wavy hair and handsome appearance, but he seemed smart. Direct in what he had to say, in a disconcerting but charming way.

“I’m not sure trying to set all those women on each other will get you what you want to know,” he said, “although it’s a good approach. At least most are female. More women than men appear to run shelters in this area—or maybe it’s because Bethany was more inclined to invite women administrators to join her network.” At my wary gaze, he said, “I was eavesdropping, of course.” His smile was disarming. “Bethany got me involved with it when she was alive—maybe more than I wanted to be, then. I thought it took too much time from my auditioning for film roles. That was one of our main bones of contention—appropriate term for someone involved with saving dogs, don’t you think? She also wanted me to do more to help manage BTA, too. We argued about it, yes. Now that she’s gone, I’d like to do more, in her memory, but Cricket wants me to butt out—which gives me even more incentive to stay involved. Somewhat, at least. I like animals, don’t want to see them suffer, but I leave the rescue stuff to people like her. And you.” His smile deepened.

Did he suggest that we get together tonight so he could try to convince me of his innocence? If so, was it because he was guilty?

I’d ask him. What was the harm? We were in public, and I was interested in his response.

Our server placed our filled glasses on the advertising coasters that were already on the table. When he had left again, Miguel raised his drink in a toast.

“Here’s to finding the truth. May it not be any more painful than the loss of Bethany.”

I noticed the dampness sparkling in his eyes despite the dark atmosphere in the pub. I remembered his emotionalism before, too, and how I’d not been certain of its veracity—or if it was just a sign that he was a good actor.

“I’ll drink to that.” I sipped my lager. It was good and dark and cold, and it went down smoothly. Seemed appropriate, considering who I was with.

I didn’t need to pose my question. He directly addressed what I was curious about. “So here’s my take on it, Lauren. I assume you want to hear it?”

“Why not?”

“I’ve already told you that neither Bethany’s ex-husbands nor I killed her. Have you talked to either of them?”

“No, but I intend to.”

“Good. Then you’ll know I’m right.”

“Maybe.”

He smiled again. “Of course. You don’t take anything for granted.” I felt my eyes dart toward the table, in case that elusive computer printout of my thoughts was there . . . “Okay, then. My opinion? If it wasn’t Mamie, I’d choose Cricket as the murderer. If not her, there are a few members of PST who argued with Bethany even more than I did.” A fond expression softened his hard features. “She really loved being in charge and telling everyone what to do. It was part of her charm.”

Everyone to his own tastes, I thought. That would be a big turn-off to me in a relationship—someone even more demanding than me. But I said to Miguel, “Who else did she argue with?”

“There was one person who adopted a dog from BTA who was always calling to complain. She asked for Cricket a lot. She loved her dog but nitpicked about things like food and training he’d been given while he was there. She also claimed she wanted Bethany to leave her alone, not call her all the time and give orders about how to treat her own dog.”

“Who is she?” I asked.

“Her name is Nalla Croler, I think. Strange name. Stranger woman. She adopted a pit bull mix—a really sweet dog she renamed Pitsy.”

“Have you spoken with her? Do you have any contact information?”

“I doubt she’s the killer, but, yes, I can e-mail you her data if you give me your address.”

I pulled a HotRescues business card from my purse and handed it to him.

“And who did Bethany argue with most at PST?” I asked.

“Most? Probably Raelene Elder of Redondo Rescues. Darya Price was new with the group, and I know she and Bethany had some disagreements, too. Then there’s Sylvia Lodner, another member. I’ll try to come up with some more. If Bethany didn’t argue with someone, there was probably something wrong with them.”

“Got it.” I tried to think of a tactful way to address what I wanted to ask next, then gave up. Tact wasn’t really necessary anyway. “I gather that you lived with Bethany. Were you home on the night she was killed?”

He laughed. “I figured you might ask that. The police sure did. The answer is no. There was a huge private party at Esplendido that night. It lasted way into the wee hours, and those of us who worked were put up in a nearby hotel for what was left of the night. I didn’t have a roommate, so I can’t prove I didn’t leave and come back. But I swear to you, I didn’t kill Bethany.”

“Okay,” I said, as if I completely bought into his alibi. I soon finished my beer, and so did Miguel. On our way back to BTA to drop him off, I pretended to be teasing as I asked more about his disagreements with Bethany. He parried all with humor—and ease.

Sure, he could be the killer, but I tucked him at the bottom of my list, just above Mamie.

Even so, I remembered well what the detective who’d been after me for murder a few short months ago had said. Detective Stefan Garciana had confided his investigation methods to me. He did an exercise with every case he was assigned, analyzing how each of the least likely suspects could have done it, then erasing them as he eliminated aspects like genuine opportunity and realistic motive. I’d told Carlie, and she’d recently reminded me of what he’d said.

I couldn’t wholly discount Miguel as a suspect, nor the people he believed couldn’t have killed Bethany.

As a result, I made a couple of calls the next morning, after arriving at HotRescues. Not first thing, though. I had to check my e-mail, see what kinds of praise and accusations the members of PST had sent along to me about Bethany.

There were already quite a few. Most were tactful, starting out by saying how much they appreciated Bethany and all she’d tried to do for the pet shelter community. Few said anything about what she’d done for the animals, though.

As I’d already figured, whatever Bethany had done, it had all been about her.

Several administrators described how rosy they thought the future of PST would be under Cricket’s auspices.

Then there were a few I decided to follow up on. Interestingly, those people included Raelene, Sylvia, and Darya. Maybe they’d been more honest than the rest, since I’d actually spoken with them. But even when they said good things about Bethany, the way things were phrased suggested an undercurrent of distaste for at least something in the way she’d handled situations. I needed to know more.

After printing out the interesting e-mails, I called and made appointments to meet with Bethany’s ex-husbands. Both surprisingly agreed when I explained who I was. The second I talked to, John Jerremiah, clarified why: Miguel had been in touch.

I got together with John first. He was a film executive who’d gotten to know Bethany in her cosmetic sales days. I went to his Hollywood office, off Sunset Boulevard, to chat.

I’d noticed at the funeral that he was much older than Bethany had been, maybe in his seventies. Interesting that she’d changed her taste in men so much. Or maybe she’d needed someone with more age to guide her until she reached the level of success she had.

In any event, John was tall, gray-haired, and dignified. He shook my hand firmly and motioned for me to have a seat. His office was small but poshly decorated. It wasn’t within one of the studios, but ornately framed posters on the wall indicated he had been affiliated with a lot of successful movies—as a producer, I gathered—which meant connections and money.

“Good to meet you, Lauren. I know Dante DeFrancisco and his connection to HotRescues.”

Interesting, I thought. If, when I left here, I still considered John a suspect, I’d have to ask Dante his opinion.

“Thanks for seeing me.” I went through the brief litany I’d used in our phone conversation about recently having met Bethany and been impressed with her—and also being a friend of the person who was most likely her murderer. “I just wanted to check with other people she knew for ideas to throw at the police, to make sure they’ve considered all possibilities.”

He laughed. “Very politic, Lauren. But I know you’re here checking me out as a possible suspect. I’d figure that out even if I hadn’t talked with Miguel. Nice guy, but a bit pushy. He’s using this as an excuse to sound me out about a film role one of these days.”

“Really?” I hadn’t thought of that angle, but in some odd way it made sense.

“I’m sure that everyone you’re talking to is assuring you they’re innocent. Add me to the list. And let me be clear on this: In this instance, at least, it’s true. Bethany and I parted on affable terms—profitable terms for her, I might add, but she gave me some really enjoyable years, so it was worth it. I hadn’t seen her for a long time, and I thought of her with affection. There was something in her will that she had mentioned to me long ago, that she left me money to go to her funeral if she died before me, but I’d have been there anyway.”

I left soon after, making notes to stick John’s file within my murder-business plan way down at the bottom.

Innocent? I believed so. But he still remained a possibility.

Bethany’s other ex, Sam Legroote, owned a card shop franchise in Newport Beach, which was down in Orange County. I hated to spend the time to go there, but Nina and Angie were in charge at HotRescues and I knew the animals would do fine without me, even if I didn’t manage to pop in till late that day. Once again, I’d left my poor Zoey at home alone, but she was sweet and resourceful and would be fine.

Sam was about two decades younger than John, and his attitude sucked. “Yeah, I hated the bitch,” he said, his voice low because there were some customers browsing in his store, which was located in a trendy shopping area. He had only a thick fringe of brown hair, and I wondered if Bethany, who’d seemed all about appearances, had dropped him because he was going bald. “She dumped me a few years ago, just before she sold out her cosmetics company. Our settlement didn’t allow for me to share in her proceeds.” He, too, mentioned that Miguel had called. “He said you’re trying to help a friend by pointing fingers at other people who might have wanted to kill her. Yeah, I had a grudge, but if I was going to do her in, I’d have done it way back when I was really mad because she’d screwed me.”