by Clea Simon
“Your girl?” I smiled, wondering when Judith was going to break the news. Maybe she’d just take off without telling him. “You and the Canaday girl still an item?”
“Yeah, well, kind of. Again.” He looked at the floor, then at the bar. “Hey, Happy, we need another round.”
“She blew you off, huh?” I couldn’t really blame him for trying. Judith was a looker, and her time in L.A. had taught her how to make the most of what she had. Randy, on the other hand, had only gotten fat and sad.
“No way,” he said, with something like a laugh. “We might even get married now. Now that her father is out of the way. Hey, barkeep!”
“What’s your hurry?” The barman came over, grumbling, two beers in hand. He placed them on the bar and leaned over, arms apart, like he was daring Randy to take them. Randy broke quickly, pulling some crumpled bills out of his pocket. I nodded, taking it all in. You have to be pretty bad not to have a tab at Happy’s. Maybe it was more than self-control that had Randy and Mack drinking PBRs tonight.
“You’re lucky we still come here.” Randy barked. He’d seen me watching.
“Like you have anyplace else to go.” The barman counted the bills and turned away. “You good?” This was to me.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I pulled a bill out of my wallet and slid it across the bar. Waited until the wizened barman had it firmly in hand, and then I turned. Unlike Randy and Mack, I did have someplace else to go.
***
“You’re home.” Wallis greeted me at the door.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, Wallis.” I tossed my keys on the table. “I should have come right home. I was just—”
“Ernesto’s fine. He always was.” She followed me into the kitchen. “You, however, look like a fledgling someone’s been practicing on.”
“I feel like it.” Rather than explain, I reached for the Maker’s Mark. I was home, I was safe. I didn’t have anyone else waiting for me.
“I’m not sure that’s what you need.” A healthy swallow, and still those green eyes looked sharp.
“Maybe not, Wallis.” Another swallow as I kicked off my boots and headed up to bed. “But it is what I can get.”
Chapter Sixty
The next morning opened bright and sunny, and as soon as I’d walked Growler I headed over to County. Doc Sharpe was back at work—Jill had texted me—but I wanted to see for myself how Sheila was doing. Besides, I realized, I might have to explain myself to the vet.
I found him in the same examining room we’d used the night before. Jill was standing, observing, as the vet examined the little dog. They both glanced up as I came in. Jill looked anxious, and I suspected she hadn’t slept. Doc Sharpe, as usual, was unreadable, his face as set as New Hampshire granite.
“Morning.” He nodded to me as I squirted some Purell onto my hands. Seeing as how I’d been way outside the bounds last night, today I was playing strictly by the book.
“Good work last night, Pru.” I needn’t have worried. The old Yankee didn’t hand out praise lightly. “You may have saved this little gal’s life.”
In truth, Sheila looked like a different dog. Standing, alert, on the same examining table where she had slumped the evening before, she looked around curiously as Doc Sharpe moved his stethoscope over her compact torso.
“Treats?” The sheltie was a little confused by the attention. “Good dog?”
“Good dog,” I replied out loud. “And thanks, Doc. I’m glad to hear it.” I wanted to ask about his absence. About why he’d left early yesterday, but my questions could wait.
“Yes, yes.” He nodded, pursing his mouth. “She sounds good.”
Putting the stethoscope away, he took the dog’s jaws in his hand. Out of habit I reached to steady her, but Jill was there first, holding the dog still as Doc Sharpe opened her mouth.
“Some irritation,” he said after a minute or so. “That’s to be expected.”
“It is?” Jill knitted her brow.
“The emetic.” The vet moved from Sheila’s mouth to her ears. “No, I’d say she ate something that didn’t agree with her. And your fast thinking, Pru, got it out before it could do any lasting harm.”
“I’m glad.” I didn’t expect the flood of relief that washed over me. Jill, meanwhile, looked like she was going to collapse. “Are you okay?” I asked her.
“Yeah, it’s just…” I took her place by the dog, as she collapsed against the cabinet. “It was stressful.” She looked up at the vet. “Pru told me I should stay up to watch her, and I did.”
Doc Sharpe looked at me, his raised eyebrows asking the question.
“I said you should be alert to any changes.” It wasn’t my fault if the girl overreacted. “But I’m glad she’s okay.”
Jill nodded. She still looked distracted, though, and I was getting the sense that it wasn’t fatigue.
“Was Larry upset?” I could sense Doc Sharpe’s surprise at my use of the lawyer’s first name, but I kept my eyes on the girl.
“No, not about…” Jill bit her lip. “Not about Sheila. That’s what we’re calling her now, Doc. He seemed angry that I took her here without him.”
“He must feel responsible.” Doc Sharpe chimed in. “This is his dog.”
“Maybe.” Jill didn’t seem convinced. “Hey,” her voice perked up, eager to change the subject. “I know it’s silly, but…”
“But what?” I didn’t have time to wait her out.
“I offered her some of her favorite treats—sweet potato, with peanut butter. They’re sweet, you know? But she didn’t want them.”
Curious. Sweet, Sheila had said to me. Doc Sharpe, however, was already responding. “I wouldn’t worry too much. She’s had a scare. Might still have a raw tum, you know. I’d say she’s in fine shape, all things considered.” The vet clearly thought the subject was closed. “And if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” I was used to cleaning up after exams. “I hope you’re feeling better,” I added as the vet washed his hands and forearms, up to the elbow.
“What? Oh, I’m fine.” He was rinsing, in water hot enough to steam.
“I thought, because you left earlier than usual last night…” This was awkward. The vet was allowed to have a private life.
“Business, Pru.” He pulled a wad of towels from the dispenser. “Damned business.”
That was harsh language from him, and so I stepped back. “Fair enough, Doc.”
“I’m sorry, Pru.” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I just—bah!—money.”
“If I can be of any help…”
“You already are.” He turned from me to Jill. “And now I’m afraid I’ve got another appointment. You take good care of that dog now. And stick with Pru here. You can learn a lot from her.”
With that he left us, and I lowered Sheila to the floor as Jill hooked the lead onto her collar. No need to carry the sheltie today.
“What’s wrong, Jill?” Now that we were alone, I wanted to get to the bottom of this. “This isn’t just about staying up to watch the dog.”
“No.” She wasn’t looking at me. Sheila was aware of her attention and wagged her tail. “I’m just—I wish you hadn’t mentioned Larry, that’s all.”
“You had his dog.” I pointed out the obvious. “It’s clear that you two are at least friends.”
She nodded, sadly, Sheila watching her every move. “It’s not him,” Jill said finally, and I remembered the day before.
“Do you really think I’d carry tales to Jackie?” Jill had been hiding. That may have been what allowed Sheila to eat whatever had endangered her life.
“It’s not you,” Jill said. “She’s got this boyfriend now.”
I shook my head, confused.
“He’s friends with that guy, the one who’s doing the work on Larry’s house?”
Of
course. Beauville isn’t that big. If Jackie was seeing any member of the working class—or even the non-working class—odds were, he drank at Happy’s.
“You think Dave or Mack will tell her you were there?” I didn’t want to make this hard on her. I did want her to face reality. “You are an adult, Jill.”
“It’s complicated.” She made to leave, but as she reached for the door, she turned back toward me one more time. “I’m trying to do something. Un-do some of the damage my dad did, and I don’t want anyone—I don’t even want Larry to know, you know?”
“I think so.” I didn’t, but I had an idea. Something besides the various mind trips he’d played on all three of his daughters. Before she could pass out of the door, I dropped down, ostensibly to pet the animal I had saved. “I know that Sheila is in good hands with you,” I said. Silently, I entreated the dog. “What is going on?” I asked. “What do you sense?”
“I knew,” said the dog, her dark eyes meeting mine. “I knew all along.”
Chapter Sixty-one
I hung around after Jill left, hoping to get more out of Doc, all the while mulling over the sheltie’s words. I’d known animals to endanger themselves in defense of others—their people or their young—but Sheila hadn’t been fighting off an intruder. Thoughts of her age came to mind again. Cognitive dysfunction can take many forms.
While I waited, I put on a coat and gloves. Those enclosures Pammy hadn’t cleaned the night before weren’t going to get better with age.
“Want a hand?” I was surprised to see Pammy in the cat room. I’d have thought she would gladly have forgotten the ostensible reason for her overtime the night before.
“Yeah, sure.” She handed me a spray bottle, while she gingerly poured the contents of a litterbox into a plastic garbage bag. The two cats she’d displaced—young females, recovering from surgery—paced nervously in an empty cage, and I tried to send calming thoughts their way.
“Here, let me.” Holding it with her fingertips like that, she was as likely to drop the bag as fill it. Besides, the faster done, the sooner those cats would be back in somewhat familiar surroundings. “My clothes are all doggy anyway.”
“Thanks.” She hung back as I emptied the tray. “Hey, that was exciting last night, wasn’t it?”
“That’s one word for it.” I knew all along…I sprayed the tray—we use a mild bleach solution—and set it aside while I looked for more litter. Pammy jumped to get it for me, wrestling the heavy box up to the counter. More agitation from the cats.
“We were, like, heroes.” I looked up. Pammy’s eyes were as wide as ever, but there was something else—an element of animation, maybe—that made her pretty cheeks even pinker than usual. “You were, anyway. You saved that poor dog’s life.”
“It was a team effort.” I rinsed off the tray and handed it to Pammy to be dried. She was trying, and Doc Sharpe still had to work with her. Besides, positive reinforcement is as good a training tool as any treat. “You were really good. Very calm.”
She mewed like a kitten at the unexpected praise. If only I had something that would provoke the same reaction in these cats.
“What do you think of that girl—Jill? Why is she involved with that old letch?” Good old Pammy.
“All I know is she was caring for the dog, Pammy.” I refilled the tray and put it back in the enclosure.
“She wasn’t doing a very good job.” The aide leaned in, her voice sinking to a conspiratorial whisper. “Letting the dog eat leaves like that.”
“Speaking of, I’m going to look for Doc Sharpe now.” I peeled off the gloves and handed them to her, the rebuff clear in my voice. The vet might still be busy, but I’d wait. Pammy’s rosebud lips started pouting, even as I headed toward the door. Well, aversion training worked, too.
As I waited outside Doc Sharpe’s consultation room, I found myself musing over what Pammy had said. Catnip was a leaf, too. It wouldn’t have calmed those young females down, but it would’ve made them happier—assuming they were both among the sixty percent or so of felines who respond to the herb. Odds were, a pinch would have had at least one of the two lolling around and that might have calmed her companion.
But Pammy had been speaking about the other couple. She was right; it was an odd match-up. Wilkins was single, and Jill was above the age of consent. But if he was going to go for a younger woman, why hadn’t he moved on Judith when she’d been practically living in his house? Unless, it hit me, he had.
“Doc?” The door had opened, but it only disgorged an older woman. A cat adoption, I was betting, as she silently brushed by me. Stereotypes exist for a reason, though Wilkins’ late wife had been a dog person. Had adopted Sheila.
If Wilkins and Judith had been having an affair…
The vet looked up at me, startled.
“Pru, you’re still here.” He blinked, his eyes small and watery behind his glasses. “Did we have another appointment?”
“No, just touching base.” He’d been a rock. He also had years of experience on me. “What do you think was up with that sheltie?”
“Who knows?” He shrugged and shook his head, as if to dismiss the craziness of all species. “By the way, how’s that kitten?” I didn’t know why he was distracted, but I was betting it had to do with his absence yesterday evening. “You said you were worried about the vaccine?”
“He had a bit of a reaction.” The vet froze at my words. “He was off his food, a little lethargic.”
“Pru.” He was looking over his glasses at me now. “You know, if it’s distemper, you should do the humane thing.”
“I know, Doc.” I did. I also knew I had an edge, not that I could explain Wallis’ insight to the vet. “But I really think this was just a reaction.”
“He’s eating again?” Doc Sharpe was not going to be put off by generalities.
“He’s better.” I tried to sound confident. After all, Wallis must know what she was talking about. “So, you want me to get an adoption kit ready?” I needed to change the subject.
“Excuse me?”
“The woman—the one who just left?” I smiled, thinking of the two cats who had just been spayed. My money was on the big gray. She’d match well with the silver-haired matron.
“Ms. Kirk was not here about a cat.”
“Oh.” I waited, only slightly surprised. Melissa Wilkins had opted for a dog, too. “A dog, then?”
“No.” The vet stepped out of the doorway, pulling the door shut behind him. “Ms. Kirk was here on a different matter entirely.” He must have seen the look on my face, because he stopped and turned toward me. “Some things are private, Pru.”
I nodded as he turned again and walked down the hall. The woman had been sixty if a day, but she’d had the same rimless glasses as the vet and a neat silver pageboy. Doc Sharpe had been widowed for as long as I could remember. Besides, it was spring.
“You shouldn’t be bugging him, you know.” I turned. Pammy had come up behind me rather quietly. She still had the gloves on from cleaning, and a sour look was scrunching her well-plucked brows together. “If there’s any extra work, you know he’ll give it to you anyway.”
“I know that,” I heard myself snap. I didn’t like being surprised. “I was offering to help. I thought—”
“You’re just as nosy as anyone else.” She was pulling the gloves off. “And if you want to help, you can do the small animal cages. It’s getting busy out front. And we have snakes.” She pursed her mouth in distaste—though whether for me or the legless reptiles was anybody’s guess—and held the gloves out for me to take. It was an unnecessary gesture. Protocol would have me donning fresh gloves when I changed rooms anyway.
“I’ll take care of it.” I took the gloves. At least I could dispose of them properly. Pammy had been a help last night, and the small mammals and lizards deserved someone to care for them, too. “And Pa
mmy, about last night? That is the best of what we do. Thanks for helping.”
She looked away, the pink coming back into her cheeks. And I went to clean more cages, feeling like at last I’d done something right.
Forty minutes later, I was waving to Pammy and heading out. The parking lot was nearly full, the sun shining off an increasing number of late-model cars. Beauville was changing, it occurred to me, as I walked over to where my vintage baby waited. It was still early for the bulk of the tourists, which meant that many of these cars belonged to year-rounders. Maybe that would be good for the town, I thought. More work for the likes of Dave and even Mack. More work for me. And maybe—it hit me, as I stopped short—more options for all of us.
Suddenly, I saw Doc Sharpe. He’d been leaning over a car window. Talking, I could see, to that same woman who had been in his office not an hour before. Had he been gone all this time? I didn’t think so—not with the crowd I’d seen hovering around Pammy’s desk. More likely, his visitor had come back, perhaps hoping to snare him for lunch.
As I watched, he started walking toward me—and she drove away. No lunch date today, I gathered. And since he had seen me, I waved.
“Looks like your friend was hoping to spirit you away,” I said.
It was the wrong thing. Doc Sharpe was old school and intensely private, and his bushy brows furrowed. “Pru, it’s not what you think.”
“Doc, it’s none of my business, I know.” I had overstepped, and I was ready to admit it. “I’m just—well, it’s nice to see you getting out. Being social.”
“Ms. Kirk is not a social contact.” He was looking at me strangely. “I would not mix my social life and work, Pru.”
“I’m sorry, I—” I wasn’t sure how to explain.
“It’s nothing.” He waved my apology away. “There’s no way you could know. I haven’t wanted you to know. But you have a right. Pru, Ms. Kirk is a forensic accountant. County may be going bankrupt.”
