Read Online Oodles of Poodles by Linda O. Johnston - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
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or where he was. But if the cops learn about that…”
“I get it,” I said. “They’ll be looking for any potential suspect with a grudge against Hans Marford for any reason.”
“I won’t reveal anything to them unless they ask me directly, and then I know better than to lie—although I might invoke my Fifth Amendment right and hire a lawyer, just in case. But if that happens…” The gaze she leveled on me then was pleading, and she reached over to grab my arm. “Please, Lauren. I know you can’t make any guarantees, but with your score in investigating murders so far, I’d really appreciate it if you’d try to find out who really did it.”
My sigh was long and deep. “Okay, Carlie,” I said slowly. “Like you said, no guarantees. But if the cops zero in on you, I’ll see what I can do.”
She rose and gave me a hug. “Thank you, Lauren,” she said hoarsely.
As she sat back down I took another swig of coffee andtried not to kick myself in the butt. After all, she might never be considered a major suspect.
We both had to get back to our responsibilities. Cups in hand, we walked slowly down the street to where I’d parked my Venza.
And stopped, half a block away.
There, on the sidewalk in front of a dry cleaner’s, was a scruffy-looking dog, chestnut in color with long, curly fur. If I had to guess, I figured it was part cocker spaniel and part poodle.
It wasn’t on a leash. No person stood near it. I looked around. There wasn’t anyone else nearby. No one dashed down the street looking for this pup.
“Do you see that?” Carlie asked, looking around, too.
“A stray,” I surmised. “Here, hold this.” I handed Carlie my cup. “I’ll go grab her.” I’d checked as well as I could from a few feet away and believed the dog to be female.
She wore no collar. When I got closer, she shied away, running much too close to the street.
I drew in my breath in fear for her—then realized that I still wore my HotRescues work clothes. That meant—
I reached into my pocket and pulled out some treats. “Here, sweetheart.” I held out my hand toward her.
She looked suspicious, but her nose must have told her that I really had some food for her. She slowly drew closer.
When she grabbed the treats from me, Carlie, who’d set our coffees down and sneaked toward us, picked her up from behind.
Fortunately, the dog seemed more shy than aggressive.
“See any kind of ID on her?” I asked.
Carlie shook her head. “Nothing.”
We wandered around for quite a while, asking people, including those at the coffee shop, if they recognized the dog, but no one did.
“Let’s go back to HotRescues,” I finally said. “I’ll check her for a microchip.”
“And if she doesn’t have one?”
“Let’s strategize on the way. I’m sure I can get Matt to help me pick her up again from a public shelter if I have to turn her in.”
That was the law here. Private shelters could take in owner relinquishments or could rescue animals from public shelters before they were put down for lack of space. But they couldn’t take in strays.
There were ways to deal with that, though, that could still result in a living, adoptable dog.
“Let’s call her Hope for now,” I said as we settled the stinky pooch in the back of my Venza in one of the crates locked in there for just this kind of situation. I looked into the crate, seeing the scared eyes of the poor dog. “Hope, I have a feeling that your life is about to get a whole lot better.”
Chapter 7
“She’s adorable!” That was Nina, the moment we brought Hope into the HotRescues welcome area. Her huge smile bisected her thin face.
I’d called ahead and Nina had closed Zoey in my office. My dog didn’t need to meet Hope unless and until our new rescuee became an inhabitant at this facility. Less hassle that way, and there was always the remote possibility that Hope was ill—although Carlie had already given her a cursory examination.
Our plan
“I get it,” I said. “They’ll be looking for any potential suspect with a grudge against Hans Marford for any reason.”
“I won’t reveal anything to them unless they ask me directly, and then I know better than to lie—although I might invoke my Fifth Amendment right and hire a lawyer, just in case. But if that happens…” The gaze she leveled on me then was pleading, and she reached over to grab my arm. “Please, Lauren. I know you can’t make any guarantees, but with your score in investigating murders so far, I’d really appreciate it if you’d try to find out who really did it.”
My sigh was long and deep. “Okay, Carlie,” I said slowly. “Like you said, no guarantees. But if the cops zero in on you, I’ll see what I can do.”
She rose and gave me a hug. “Thank you, Lauren,” she said hoarsely.
As she sat back down I took another swig of coffee andtried not to kick myself in the butt. After all, she might never be considered a major suspect.
We both had to get back to our responsibilities. Cups in hand, we walked slowly down the street to where I’d parked my Venza.
And stopped, half a block away.
There, on the sidewalk in front of a dry cleaner’s, was a scruffy-looking dog, chestnut in color with long, curly fur. If I had to guess, I figured it was part cocker spaniel and part poodle.
It wasn’t on a leash. No person stood near it. I looked around. There wasn’t anyone else nearby. No one dashed down the street looking for this pup.
“Do you see that?” Carlie asked, looking around, too.
“A stray,” I surmised. “Here, hold this.” I handed Carlie my cup. “I’ll go grab her.” I’d checked as well as I could from a few feet away and believed the dog to be female.
She wore no collar. When I got closer, she shied away, running much too close to the street.
I drew in my breath in fear for her—then realized that I still wore my HotRescues work clothes. That meant—
I reached into my pocket and pulled out some treats. “Here, sweetheart.” I held out my hand toward her.
She looked suspicious, but her nose must have told her that I really had some food for her. She slowly drew closer.
When she grabbed the treats from me, Carlie, who’d set our coffees down and sneaked toward us, picked her up from behind.
Fortunately, the dog seemed more shy than aggressive.
“See any kind of ID on her?” I asked.
Carlie shook her head. “Nothing.”
We wandered around for quite a while, asking people, including those at the coffee shop, if they recognized the dog, but no one did.
“Let’s go back to HotRescues,” I finally said. “I’ll check her for a microchip.”
“And if she doesn’t have one?”
“Let’s strategize on the way. I’m sure I can get Matt to help me pick her up again from a public shelter if I have to turn her in.”
That was the law here. Private shelters could take in owner relinquishments or could rescue animals from public shelters before they were put down for lack of space. But they couldn’t take in strays.
There were ways to deal with that, though, that could still result in a living, adoptable dog.
“Let’s call her Hope for now,” I said as we settled the stinky pooch in the back of my Venza in one of the crates locked in there for just this kind of situation. I looked into the crate, seeing the scared eyes of the poor dog. “Hope, I have a feeling that your life is about to get a whole lot better.”
Chapter 7
“She’s adorable!” That was Nina, the moment we brought Hope into the HotRescues welcome area. Her huge smile bisected her thin face.
I’d called ahead and Nina had closed Zoey in my office. My dog didn’t need to meet Hope unless and until our new rescuee became an inhabitant at this facility. Less hassle that way, and there was always the remote possibility that Hope was ill—although Carlie had already given her a cursory examination.
Our plan
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