Free The More the Terrier by Linda O. Johnston

call your niece Janice—the lawyer—and have her meet you there?” That was partly for the cop’s benefit, so he’d know Mamie was represented—perhaps. Mamie’s niece had said she wasn’t a criminal lawyer but surely she’d get involved enough to at least refer Mamie to one.
    “Oh, yes, Janice is such a good girl. Pretty, too. It runs in the family.” Mamie touched her red curls.
    “Call her,” I said, not even attempting to comprehend Mamie’s state of mind. Only then did I look up to catch the baleful look in the eye of the detective accompanying Mamie. They soon headed out the front gate. I could only hope that Mamie understood enough not to say anything that would incriminate her—any more than her presence at a murder scene, and anything she’d previously said, had already done so.
    I remained fully cooperative after they were gone, answering a few more questions for Detective Greshlam—not that I knew anything likely to be useful. Plus, I wasn’t about to give any opinions about the relationship between Mamie and Bethany. Quite a few people had been at Bethany’s presentation on hoarders and could draw conclusions they’d likely be thrilled to tell the police. Like Cricket. I watched as she was approached by a guy in a suit, probably another detective, and I’d little doubt that she’d give all the details she could about Mamie’s appearance yesterday at the meeting.
    Could Mamie have killed Bethany? Honestly, I suspected it was possible, but I hated to think it could be true.
    When Detective Greshlam was done questioning me, she and the guy with Cricket walked off together for a few minutes. I used the opportunity to learn what Cricket had been asked.
    “They wanted to know about poor Bethany,” she replied softly. “And about Better Than Any Pet Rescues. Now that Bethany’s gone, I guess I’m in charge.” She started to cry.
    Quietly, I gave her a falsely cheerful pep talk. The one thing accurate about it was that I told Bethany’s former assistant that pet rescuers were all in it together, and that if she needed any help running the facility or taking care of any animals, she should give me a call.
    “But I have everyone in Pet Shelters Together to call on,” she responded in a soggy but nevertheless condescending voice. She must have learned well from Bethany.
    In a few minutes, Detective Greshlam returned and told me I was free to go.
    I hurried out before she could change her mind.
    The media was a lot more forthcoming than the detectives. I’m not sure how they got their information, but I heard on the radio that Bethany had apparently been shot with her own gun.
     
     
    I’d left Zoey at home that morning, since I’d come straight to the Westchester area to check on Mamie. Now, I headed there to pick her up. I didn’t want her to be alone that day.
    I didn’t want to be alone, either. Not that it was possible to be alone during time spent at HotRescues—even if no other humans were present. And since this was Saturday, we’d have not only our usual staff, but more volunteers present—high school and college kids who helped out on weekends. A few of them and their parents even acted as foster families. We sometimes believed it to be in an animal’s best interests not to stay in our facility while we tried to find them new homes—often very young kittens and puppies who needed special TLC.
    With luck, we’d also have more possible adopters drop in, as frequently happened on weekends, too.
    I felt relieved, as if I had finally come home, when I pulled into my spot in the HotRescues parking lot. I leashed Zoey and gave her a short walk before we went through the side door into the welcome area.
    Nina stood immediately, and when I released Zoey from her leash, she dashed to my assistant for a pat. Nina had apparently been working on paperwork behind the counter. “What happened, Lauren?”
    I’d called earlier to let her know I’d be late, told her an overview without