Dog Days (Raine Stockton Dog Mystery Book 10)

by Donna Ball

  ~*~

  Crystal greeted me with a big smile from behind the desk when I walked into the vet’s office. “Good news,” she said. “We found her vet and they faxed over her shot records.” She presented some papers to me. “She’s good to go until March. Also, we got a phone number for the owner, but it goes to voice mail.” Now her smile turned to a grimace. “Probably their home number, a Virginia area code. Seriously, you’d think people would learn to put their cell phones as contact numbers on the microchip. You’re out of town, you lose your dog, what good does it do to have people calling your home phone to tell you they’ve found your dog?”

  “Maybe they don’t have a cell phone,” I suggested, and Crystal, who was twenty-something, rolled her eyes at the very thought.

  “Anyway, I left a couple of messages, your number and ours. The microchip company and the dog’s vet are doing the same thing, so maybe it won’t be too long before we hear something.”

  “Thanks,” I said, glancing over the paperwork. The dog’s name was Cameo, and she belonged to April Madison of 238 Willow Drive, Highlands, Virginia. “What about this?” I pointed to a line on the second page. “Greg Sellers, the emergency contact?”

  “Disconnected.”

  I muttered, “Great. Why don’t people keep their information updated?”

  Crystal shrugged. “Hold on, I’ll get her.”

  The way a dog can affect your mood is nothing short of miraculous. I still had that same hollow soreness in the pit of my stomach that I’d taken with me from the sheriff’s office, but the moment Crystal came out with that fluffy white golden retriever pulling on the end of the leash, her fur combed out and shining with conditioner, her deep brown eyes bright and alert, I all but forgot my own troubles. I dropped to one knee, opening my arms as I exclaimed softly, “Look at you!”

  Crystal dropped the leash a few feet away and Cameo came right to me. I gave her a big hug and ran my fingers through slightly damp, sweet smelling fur. She wagged her tail and bumped my chin with her forehead, clearly accustomed to being fawned over.

  “I think she’s glad to be cleaned up,” said Doc, coming out behind Crystal. “She checks out fine. I couldn’t find a mark on her. I don’t know what she got into. A deer carcass maybe? But I doubt she ate any of it. She looks too healthy to’ve been eating carrion, and I don’t think she could’ve been on the loose more than a day or two. I guess Crystal told you we got hold of her vet and have a lead on the owner, so maybe this one will be a happy ending.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” I caught up the leash and stood. “I could use a happy ending or two right now.”

  He winked at me. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

  Doc Witherspoon’s office is on the edge of town, in a building next to his house, which makes it practical for late night emergencies. It’s on a rural road with mostly farms nearby, and the closest house was an easy quarter-mile away. So naturally I noticed, as I made the turn out of his dirt driveway, that there was a blue sedan parked on the shoulder of the road about a hundred feet to the north. At first I thought the car was abandoned, but when I passed it I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a man straighten up behind the wheel, as though he had been checking the glove box or reaching for something on the passenger side floor. Or trying to hide.

  Because I swear, just for a moment there, the guy looked enough like that crazy tourist from town that I actually tapped my brakes to get a better look. It was too late though. He pulled off the shoulder and made a U-turn to go the opposite way, cell phone pressed to his ear. And while I didn’t get a look at his face, I could tell he was straight-shouldered, not stooped, wearing a red polo shirt, not a plaid cotton one, and if he was balding, a baseball cap covered it. He was just a guy who had pulled over to the side of the road to make a phone call.

  Maybe Marshall Becker was right. Maybe I was paranoid.

  ~*~

  On my way home I passed the fairgrounds, where the big Ferris wheel was already being erected and the colorful tops of canvas tents were being stretched between metal poles. There were several tractor trailers and a half dozen pickup trucks parked in the dusty lot, and I could hear the staccato sound of hammers as I passed. As a kid I used to love to watch them put together the Ferris wheel, and somehow always found a way to sneak past the fence meant to keep civilians out and watch in big-eyed wonder until Uncle Ro sent a deputy to chase us off. By “us” I mean, of course, Buck and me. We were inseparable even then.

  It was a quarter till three when I got home, which meant I would have to hustle if I expected to finish all the grooming clients and have them—as well as the day care dogs—ready for pickup at 5:00. And if either one of those girls even so much as mentioned leaving early today, I would strangle her.

  I hurried Cameo into the rescue run and made sure she had fresh water and access to shade, as well as a chew bone I’d just sanitized in the dishwasher that morning. Then I changed my nice blouse for another faded Dog Daze tee shirt and crossed the driveway to the kennel office at a brisk pace.

  The first thing I noticed was that there was a bicycle parked inside the gate. It had a duffle bag sporting a red, white, and blue design strapped to the back fender, and a helmet painted with neon color paw prints dangling from the handlebars. Odd. I didn’t know anyone with a bicycle like that. Or with a bicycle of any kind, come to think of it.

  There were no dogs in the play yard, and all was relatively quiet as I came up, which was always a good sign. I was starting to think a little more favorably about the girls by the time I reached my office. There I stopped dead.

  The strangest-looking young man I’d ever seen was sitting behind my desk, talking on my phone. He had wild frizzy hair that was literally the color of fresh carrots, and it stuck out from his head about four inches in all directions. His eyebrows and eyelashes were also orange, although half-covered by square-framed white-rimmed glasses. He wore a bright yellow shirt with puffy short sleeves and a red bow tie. He was saying into my phone, “That’s right, Mrs. Carver, ten o’clock on Thursday. We’ll see you then. ’Ta!” He jotted something down on my calendar as he hung up the phone, and then leapt up from behind the desk, his smile as big as Colorado, his hands extended in joyful welcome.

  “Raine Stockton!” he cried. “Raine Stockton, I can’t believe it’s really you!”

  I just stood there, staring with mouth slightly ajar, frozen in place, and he rushed around the desk toward me. He wore the smallest pair of shorts I’d ever seen on a man, and electric blue Crocs. “I am such a fan!” he gushed. “I can’t tell you what an honor! I’ve been counting the days, the hours really …”

  He was coming at me with such enthusiasm that I thought he was going to try to hug me, and I threw my hands up in self-defense. “Hey!” I said, using the same tone I’d use with an overly exuberant puppy, and he stopped like a well trained dog. I demanded, “Who are you?”

  He crossed his hands over his chest in a gesture of contrition. “Where are my manners?” He spun on his heel and snatched a paper from my desk. “Cornelius Sylvester Lancaster the Third, at your service. I’m your twelve o’clock. My resume.”

  He presented the paper to me with a flourish, and I stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending. Then I had to stifle a groan. The kid I was supposed to interview at noon for the job. I’d forgotten. Still …

  “Where’s Cisco?” I demanded sharply. A sudden alarm overtook me and I whirled for the door. “Where are my dogs? Where are the girls?”

  I ran out into the hall and pushed open the metal fire door that led to the kennel area. “Cisco! Mischief, Magic, Pepper!”

  That of course incited an immediate eruption of wild, discordant barks, but among the excited voices I thought I recognized some familiar tones from the playroom. I hurried in and found Cisco, Pepper, Mischief, and Magic safely inside the roomy “resting” kennels I used for agility lessons when dogs were awaiting their turn. I went quickly to each of them, doling out treats from my pockets and assuring m
yself they were all okay.

  Cornelius followed me in some confusion. “Um, they were having nap time.”

  I whirled once again. “Where are the girls? They’re supposed to be in charge.”

  He still looked confused. “They left at two. They said it was Thursday.”

  I stared at him for another moment. I knew that. Of course I did. On Thursdays the girls left at two. I had just forgotten it was Thursday.

  I said, “Look, um, Cornelius …”

  “Corny,” he injected. “My friends call me Corny.”

  I wondered if those people were really his friends, and it took me a moment to recompose thoughts. “Um, Corny, I’m sorry I missed our appointment, but this is really not a good time. I have five grooming clients to finish …”

  “Done,” he said cheerfully.

  I stared at him. “What?”

  He held up a finger and went to the door, calling out in a singsong voice, “Ladies! Gentlemen! Please!”

  To my absolute astonishment, the uproar of barking dissipated, little by little, until all that was left was the lone, determine yip of a Chihuahua at the far end of the run. Corny said sternly, “Chi-Chi!” and even that stopped. Even my own dogs settled down in their kennels and stretched out their paws, their eyes fixed upon the creature who may or may not have been the God of All Dogs.

  He turned to me, smiling broadly. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  I was starting to get a little spooked. “As I was saying, my grooming clients …”

  “Right.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Caesar and Cicero, baths and nail trims, picked up by their moms at one thirty. They left checks, but I didn’t enter them into the computer because I don’t know your password. Breeze, flea-dip and blow out, went home at two. Samson is still in the drying cage. Peaches’s card said she gets a puppy cut, so that’s what I gave her, plus a fluff-and-buff, and her mom is on the way now.”

  I felt the breath go out of my chest. “You trimmed one of my dogs?”

  “Well, I only—”

  But I heard nothing else. I pushed past him rudely, racing toward the grooming room.

  Peaches was a two-year-old miniature poodle and one of my best customers. Her owner brought her in every two weeks for a bath and nail trim and once a month for a full cut. And she was very particular about how that cut was done.

  Peaches greeted me by coming to the front of her cage and wagging her stubby little tail as I came in. She had a peach-colored bow atop her head and peach nail polish on her nails. The cut looked perfect, but I took her out of the cage anyway and examined her for razor burn or other signs of mishandling.

  “I hope I didn’t overstep with the color scheme,” Corny said behind me, sounding a little anxious. “It just seemed that with her name being Peaches …”

  “No.” I blew out a breath of relief and gave Peaches a treat before I put her back in the cage. “No, it’s fine. Everything looks fine. Only you can’t just …” I turned back to him, and then stopped as something occurred to me. “Cornelius Lancaster,” I said suddenly, remembering. “There was a famous dog handler by that name. You wouldn’t by any chance …”

  He nodded enthusiastically, beaming at me. “My grandfather. One hundred forty-eight best-in-shows, including three at Westminster. Two hundred sixty best of group, three hundred eighty best of breed, and heaven knows how many championships. It’s kind of the family business.”

  “Oh,” I said, staring at him. “Oh, wow. Well, that’s impressive, of course, but …”

  My cell phone rang and I took it out of my pocket to check the caller ID. I held up a finger and said to Corny, “Stay here. Don’t touch anything. Don’t do anything. I’ll be right back.”

  I walked quickly out of the room as I answered the call. “Miles,” I said. “Hey.”

  “Hey, sugar.” He sounded a little distracted. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Yours, too.” I pushed through the metal door and walked back toward my office. “I was starting to worry.”

  “I’m sorry, baby. Things are a little more complicated here than I expected, and I didn’t want to discuss them in front of Mel. But we need to talk.”

  Even under the best of circumstances, those words would make any woman pay attention. But as I reached the front of the building I heard a car door slam, and when I looked out the front windows everything inside me went still. I said, “Miles, I have to call you back.”

  I disconnected and walked out the front door just as Buck opened the gate. Our eyes met for a moment, and I almost thought he hesitated. Then he came through the gate, closed it behind him, and started up the walkway toward me. I stood in the blistering sun and let him.

  I’d been in love with Buck Lawson since I was fifteen years old. Except for a brief time in college, I had never been with anyone else. I married him when I was twenty-two years old, divorced him when I found out he was cheating on me, and married him again a year later. That marriage wasn’t much better than the first, and we spent almost as much of it apart as we did together. I divorced him for the last time in October of the previous year, when I found him in bed with Wyn, who was his coworker and, at that time, my friend.

  It sounds like a soap opera and it doesn’t show either one of us in a very good light, but the truth is that things have always been more complex between us than they seem. It’s hard to just walk away from someone you’ve been with half your life. Hard for me, hard for him. We’d grown up together, we went to church together, we’d had Christmas and Thanksgiving and Fourth of July barbecues together for as long as I could remember. He was the one who’d given me Cisco, and to this day I think Cisco considers himself as much Buck’s dog as mine. How do you erase a history like that? How do you just stop being who you’ve always been?

  He stood in front of me, close enough for me to smell the baked cotton of his uniform shirt, the faint familiar trace of his sweat. His eyes were squinted in the sun as he looked at me, and for a moment he didn’t say anything. Then, “You know I didn’t want that to happen.”

  I said nothing.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks,” he said. “All summer, I guess. Neither one of us wanted you to be blindsided. But that’s exactly what happened. I’m sorry.”

  The ache in my stomach was back again, but I was very proud of how calm my voice was as I said, “What do you expect from me, Buck?”

  “Nothing.” He was quick enough to admit that. Good for him. “I just wanted you to know I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You never do.” I regretted that the minute I said it, because the last thing I wanted was to let him think he’d hurt me at all. I added irritably, “Is that it? Because I’m busy.”

  I started to turn away, but he said, “No. No, there’s something else.”

  I looked back at him impatiently.

  I saw him swallow. He shifted his gaze briefly over my shoulder, and then back again. He said, “I don’t want you to hear it from somebody else. There’s a baby, Raine. Wyn is pregnant.”

  A few months ago, I fell hard at an agility trial, literally knocking the breath out of myself. I remember that awful few seconds of floundering like a fish on the dock, wheezing and gasping with lungs that wouldn’t expand, until suddenly air came rushing in again. This was like that. Only it seemed like much longer than a few seconds before I could breathe again this time.

  Finally I said, “Wow.” My lips felt heavy and my voice sounded odd and lifeless, even to my own ears. Still, I managed, “Congratulations. I know that’s what you’ve always wanted.”

  I turned to go back inside, but before I had even completed the first step I spun around, palm out, and struck him hard across the face. “You coward!”

  I stood there with fists clenched and eyes blazing, fighting the urge to hit him again. “That was for Wyn,” I said, breathing hard.

  The force of my blow had left a welt across his cheek that was sure to bruise, and every time someone asked him about it he wo
uld remember this moment. I wanted to take satisfaction in that, but I couldn’t. Because when I looked into his eyes I did not see anger, or embarrassment, or even surprise. What I saw was relief. He had done something wrong, and now he had been punished. He thought it was over.

  And he was right. It was.

  Suddenly I was very tired. “Get out of here, Buck,” I said.

  I turned to walk back to my office, and this time I didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I walked back into my office and sat down behind the desk. I drew in one long breath and blew it out through my lips. I moved the papers around on my desk. I leaned back in my chair and stared sightlessly at the SPCA poster of a puppy behind bars on the opposite wall.

  Corny tiptoed in with his hands wrapped around one of my Dog Daze mugs. From the size of his eyes behind those absurd glasses, I guessed he had witnessed my assault on a police officer and was wondering whether he had just applied for a job with someone who was about to go to jail. He set the cup carefully on the desk before me.

  “It’s chamomile,” he said, almost whispering. “I found it in the kitchenette. I hope you don’t mind. Very soothing.”

  I stared at him.

  “Well,” he murmured, taking a few steps backwards. “I guess I’ll just, um …” He gestured vaguely toward the door.

  I blinked and managed to focus. I cleared my throat. “Thank you for the tea, Corny,” I said. “That was nice.” I took a sip and he regarded me with slightly less wariness. “And thanks for your help with the dogs while I was gone. I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

  He smiled cautiously. “I love dogs. And they seem to like me.”

  I took another sip of tea. “What did you mean, before, when you said you were my biggest fan?”

  His eyes lit up and he pressed his hands together with excitement as he came back to my desk. “Well,” he confessed, “I’ve followed you on Facebook for, like, ever, and there was that great piece you did in Clean Run on proof-training contact points, and then year before last? When Cisco found that little girl who was lost in the woods and kept her warm all night?” He drew in a dramatic breath and clasped his hands over his heart. “Everyone in the whole state thought she was dead! Then of course there was that awful business with the New Day Wilderness Retreat, and how you and Cisco helped all those kids survive in a blizzard! I mean, the work you do! And then Dog Fancy did that feature on Camp Bowser-Wowser a couple of years back and I thought what you said about teaching scent-training was just brilliant.”