The More the Terrier by Linda O. Johnston Page B

kinds of small pets like rabbits and hamsters, but all we’d sheltered recently had been adopted.
    Dogs were kenneled together, or allowed to mingle in our visitors’ park, only after observation to make sure they got along well. That minimized the possibility of fights.
    The four of us—Brooke and I and the dogs—continued down the path toward the back shed, turning the corner so we could visit the enclosures at the other side of the uneven U formation.
    “There’ll be a lot more room here soon,” Brooke observed. “More potential security issues, too.”
    “Will you need more people here overnight when the two properties are joined?” I asked.
    “Nah. I think we’ve got that EverySecurity bunch under control now. They report to me first, and they’re already planning to add cameras and all to the new building and animal enclosure areas.”
    “I hope so.” My prior experience with EverySecurity also hadn’t been great. In fact, there had been a murder here at HotRescues as well as other security breaches, and the company hadn’t helped much in resolving them.
    That’s one reason Dante had hired Brooke, a former P.I.
    Her background was now feeding the idea that had taken root in my mind.
    We looked through the gate toward the construction on the property next door. “The building’s nearly done,” I commented. “At least the outside.”
    “Couldn’t be finished fast enough for me,” Brooke said. “I’m a little tired already of using that office upstairs in the center building as makeshift sleeping quarters. I’ll be glad when the other offices are finished in the new building and the whole upstairs is remodeled into a real apartment.”
    That was because someone always slept here at HotRescues—now. We’d survived six years with only a security company on board till the problems that had occurred a few months ago, though I’d always been concerned about whether more watchfulness was needed.
    Brooke had a few part-time security employees who took turns with her in being our overnight contingent, although she now most often stayed here herself.
    Finishing our visits to the canines outside, we entered the back door to the center building, where we looked in on the smaller dogs, as well as the cat rooms. All the animals seemed fine, if, perhaps, a bit lonely. But Brooke would walk through again at least twice more to check on them.
    I was heading home.
    First, though, as we strolled back toward the entrance, I asked Brooke, “How’s Antonio?” Detective Antonio Bautrel was her new boyfriend. He happened to be with the LAPD, in the Gang and Narcotics Division.
    “He’s fine.” Her voice went soft and mushy, unusual for our security specialist, but only for a moment. “Why, do you need me to ask him something on that situation with your old friend?”
    She was nothing if not perceptive. “I don’t need it, but I’d appreciate it. I’d really like to know what the cops think happened to Bethany Urber.”
    I explained briefly what I knew about Bethany, a little about her Better Than Any Pet Rescues, and her network of Pet Shelters Together.
    “The cops might have zeroed in on Mamie as the killer, and it may be true . . . or not. I’d like to know something about any evidence they have against her besides just her presence, although I know a lot of that is kept confidential. Also, the media are saying that Bethany was allegedly killed with her own gun. Is that true?” I’d been wondering whether she’d taken it out herself and her killer had gotten it away and used it in self-defense . . . or whether the killer had been around Bethany’s place enough to know where the gun was hidden.
    “I’ll see if Antonio can tell me anything.” Brooke’s grin was suggestive. “Of course, I can be pretty convincing.”
    I laughed. “I’ll just bet you can.”
    She sat down behind the counter in the welcome area, and the dogs stayed with her.
    I retrieved my purse from my office and checked my