use.”
“What do you mean?” I asked gently. Despite all my doubts, I realized that I had started to believe her.
“He pretended to listen to my ideas, and Mr. Caramon encouraged me to make suggestions. But I think the cops have already decided they know who did it, no matter what I say, and they’re just taking their time so they can get whatever evidence they can make up to prove it.”
“They think it’s—”
“Me, Lauren. They seem sure that it was me.”
Chapter 11
On my drive back to HotRescues, I pondered the meager list of additional suspects that Mamie had strained to tell me about. She claimed not to have known Bethany well. Even so, she had met her weeks ago, had had a lot of interaction with her while they discussed the possibility of Mamie’s Beach Pet Rescue joining the Pet Shelters Together network.
But that didn’t mean she knew Bethany personally. Mamie probably didn’t know her well enough to figure out everyone—else—who might have wanted Bethany out of their lives.
That left it up to me . . . somewhat.
I wasn’t an investigator. I’d no reason to believe that the cops were mishandling anything. They were treating Mamie like a suspect . . . which she was. But they hadn’t arrested her. That indicated they weren’t necessarily jumping to conclusions.
Yet I also couldn’t say with any certainty that they were doing anything besides getting all their detective mojo lined up so they could prosecute Mamie with no hitches when they were ready to pull her in.
A little thing like her not being guilty might not stand in their path once they decided to prosecute.
But was she guilty?
And why was I putting myself through this?
I knew the answer, of course. I always helped friends. Mamie had once been a friend—a really good one. The fact that I’d won the position at HotRescues, and not her, might have angered her, but I now believed I should have made a greater effort to stay in touch.
I’d unintentionally turned my back on her then when she might have needed my help. I wouldn’t do it again.
Besides, if she had decided to kill anybody, I’d already figured it was more likely to have been me. She apparently still resented that Dante had chosen me to run HotRescues, and I’d been the one to call Animal Services on her.
Not that I felt bad about either. Both had been the right choice.
They also made me feel a little sorrier for Mamie.
I used my hands-free device to call ahead to HotRescues. Brooke, having finished her overnight security duties, had already left. Everything there was fine, Bev, our senior volunteer, assured me. Since it was Sunday, Nina wasn’t around. Most likely she was volunteering today at one of the L.A. city shelters. Pete wasn’t around, either, and the place was largely staffed by our volunteers. I also heard noise in the background as I talked to Bev that suggested . . . A. she was outside, and B. the construction guys were there, next door, working on the new building.
Since everything sounded in order, I pulled over once I got off the freeway and asked Bev to look something up for me. “I need some information to do a home visit on my way to HotRescues,” I told her.
After about five minutes, she called me back with information about one of our recent adoptions—a cat placement in Northridge, not far off my route to HotRescues.
I called the number of the very nice lady who had adopted the calico kitty we’d called QueenJ a few weeks ago. I’d done one follow-up visit nearly immediately, since Q.J. had been sent to her new home at the end of an adoption event in a park, and I was always concerned about how those quick placements would work out—so much so that I almost never permitted them. The people had appeared to be great prospective adopters, but, micromanager that I tend to be, I always did at least one extra visit to assure myself that all was well.
“Carmen?” I said when a woman answered the phone. “I’m Lauren Vancouver,
“What do you mean?” I asked gently. Despite all my doubts, I realized that I had started to believe her.
“He pretended to listen to my ideas, and Mr. Caramon encouraged me to make suggestions. But I think the cops have already decided they know who did it, no matter what I say, and they’re just taking their time so they can get whatever evidence they can make up to prove it.”
“They think it’s—”
“Me, Lauren. They seem sure that it was me.”
Chapter 11
On my drive back to HotRescues, I pondered the meager list of additional suspects that Mamie had strained to tell me about. She claimed not to have known Bethany well. Even so, she had met her weeks ago, had had a lot of interaction with her while they discussed the possibility of Mamie’s Beach Pet Rescue joining the Pet Shelters Together network.
But that didn’t mean she knew Bethany personally. Mamie probably didn’t know her well enough to figure out everyone—else—who might have wanted Bethany out of their lives.
That left it up to me . . . somewhat.
I wasn’t an investigator. I’d no reason to believe that the cops were mishandling anything. They were treating Mamie like a suspect . . . which she was. But they hadn’t arrested her. That indicated they weren’t necessarily jumping to conclusions.
Yet I also couldn’t say with any certainty that they were doing anything besides getting all their detective mojo lined up so they could prosecute Mamie with no hitches when they were ready to pull her in.
A little thing like her not being guilty might not stand in their path once they decided to prosecute.
But was she guilty?
And why was I putting myself through this?
I knew the answer, of course. I always helped friends. Mamie had once been a friend—a really good one. The fact that I’d won the position at HotRescues, and not her, might have angered her, but I now believed I should have made a greater effort to stay in touch.
I’d unintentionally turned my back on her then when she might have needed my help. I wouldn’t do it again.
Besides, if she had decided to kill anybody, I’d already figured it was more likely to have been me. She apparently still resented that Dante had chosen me to run HotRescues, and I’d been the one to call Animal Services on her.
Not that I felt bad about either. Both had been the right choice.
They also made me feel a little sorrier for Mamie.
I used my hands-free device to call ahead to HotRescues. Brooke, having finished her overnight security duties, had already left. Everything there was fine, Bev, our senior volunteer, assured me. Since it was Sunday, Nina wasn’t around. Most likely she was volunteering today at one of the L.A. city shelters. Pete wasn’t around, either, and the place was largely staffed by our volunteers. I also heard noise in the background as I talked to Bev that suggested . . . A. she was outside, and B. the construction guys were there, next door, working on the new building.
Since everything sounded in order, I pulled over once I got off the freeway and asked Bev to look something up for me. “I need some information to do a home visit on my way to HotRescues,” I told her.
After about five minutes, she called me back with information about one of our recent adoptions—a cat placement in Northridge, not far off my route to HotRescues.
I called the number of the very nice lady who had adopted the calico kitty we’d called QueenJ a few weeks ago. I’d done one follow-up visit nearly immediately, since Q.J. had been sent to her new home at the end of an adoption event in a park, and I was always concerned about how those quick placements would work out—so much so that I almost never permitted them. The people had appeared to be great prospective adopters, but, micromanager that I tend to be, I always did at least one extra visit to assure myself that all was well.
“Carmen?” I said when a woman answered the phone. “I’m Lauren Vancouver,
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