Beaglemania by Linda O. Johnston Read Free Book Online

voluble than theirs.
    I was relieved when Si and Angie emerged hastily from the center building. Both had assisted in our attempt to reeducate Efram, so they knew him.
    They approached us, which hurled my emotions into further turmoil. I didn’t want them endangered, but maybe there was safety in numbers.
    Or maybe not.
    “What are you doing here, Efram?” Angie demanded. “People who work at puppy mills aren’t welcome. Those poor animals!”
    “Like she said.” Si looked at me, as if trying to confirm my opinion.
    I nodded. “Efram was just leaving.” I didn’t look at him.
    “Yeah, okay, I get it,” he growled. “I’m leaving for now. But you can be sure I’ll be back. And if you think I may have abused animals before, just wait till you see how nasty I can get. And not just to the damned dogs and cats you keep here.” He paused, and only then did I glance at him. His face was a feral mask of rage. “Everyone here had just better watch their backs,” he said in a voice so low it was hard to hear. “All of you—especially you, Vancouver.” He shot an extra-menacing glare at me, and then he strode toward the rear exit—even as I finally heard a siren from down the street.

Chapter 4

    Unsurprisingly, Efram vanished before the police arrived. I told the officer who interviewed me—a young African American guy who clearly loved animals—what had happened. I gathered that, despite Efram’s ugly threat, he would probably not be arrested for his intrusion into HotRescues that day.
    I had Nina take the cop for a walk around the shelter, ostensibly to make sure Efram wasn’t hiding in some remote alcove, but also because I had the sense that the officer was interested in seeing our residents, and I wanted to encourage that. His partner, an older, no-nonsense female cop, pretended disinterest, but she accompanied them.
    I returned to the welcome area. It was long past the time when the woman who’d called so often said she was bringing in her dog. Maybe she had at long last made the final decision to keep her pup at home.
    But that wasn’t the case. A thin thirtysomething lady was standing there when I arrived. She wore tight jeans and a loose shirt in a colorful print pattern.
    Sitting on the floor at her feet, his leash slack since he wasn’t moving, was a golden retriever mix. He looked toward me with anxious eyes as I joined them.
    I believe that pets understand a lot more than most people give them credit for. Often, they recognize words. Even more, they read moods, especially of the people they love.
    This dog clearly sensed something terrible was afoot.
    “Hi,” I said, immediately taking charge. Approaching the woman with my hand outstretched, I continued, “I’m Lauren Vancouver, director of administration of HotRescues.”
    “I’m Brooke Pernall, and this is Cheyenne.” Brooke didn’t shake my hand or meet my eyes. Her face was narrow and gaunt, her mousy brown hair a sparse, unstyled frame around it.
    If I wasn’t mistaken, she was ill. Which made this situation potentially even more heartbreaking.
    “Hi, Cheyenne.” I knelt beside the dog, whose tail gave a halfhearted wag. I couldn’t help it. I hugged him.
    “I have to leave him here, with you. He needs a good home.” As Brooke spoke, her voice grew louder, as if she gained strength from expressing her decision.
    “Yes, he does,” I agreed. “Please have a seat.” I motioned toward the chairs at the table near the window. I nearly shuddered, since the last time I’d seen anyone occupy one, it had been Efram. But helping to resolve this situation might cleanse the area of its bad karma—I hoped.
    Brooke took the seat I indicated, and Cheyenne sat on the tile floor beside her, looking more alert, as if sensing an ally in me. If so, he was one smart dog.
    “So,” I said, “I get it that you want a good home for Cheyenne. What I don’t get is why your home doesn’t qualify.”
    What little color there was beneath