“You poor kid.” Irma came over to me and knelt to give me a hug. Biscuit wriggled over to get another hug from her, too.
Meantime, Joe had whipped out his smart phone. After a minute stroking and studying it, his expression turned grim. “Yep,” he said. “Another murder in Knobcone Heights.”
Then it was confirmed. Wanda was dead. The media, or at least online sites, had said so.
Joe looked at me. “How do you find a way to get connected to all of these murders, Carrie?”
“I wish I knew,” I said with a sigh, “so I could find a way to stay far away from them.”
I couldn’t hang out with the Joes for long, since my shift at the clinic was about to start. Even so, having them with me, shrouding me in their sympathy, helped my mood a bit.
Soon, Biscuit and I said goodbye. After I stopped to say a brief hi to Sweetie and Biscuit traded nose sniffs with her, we started toward the animal hospital. We turned the corner onto Pacific Street and headed to Hill Street, a little north of it. I still carried my bag of dog treats. The sky was overcast, the air was cool, but after all it was October. The weather forecast suggested rain, but more likely tomorrow than today.
Like Joe, I’d read the sparse accounts of Wanda’s death on my phone. No details were given, which was probably a good thing.
Biscuit and I reached the vet clinic and went around to the back so we could enter the doggy daycare part from the parking lot. I always liked bringing Biscuit here when I was at work, partly because she got lots of playtime and attention at daycare.
The single large room had a shiny beige linoleum floor that could easily be cleaned in case of accidents. Crates of different sizes sat along the walls. Most visitors played well with others, but if they didn’t, or needed a time-out, that was taken care of.
We had a special staff dedicated strictly to the daycare. They didn’t just watch the dogs, but also got groups of them together for learning and playing and having as great a time as possible.
Right now, several staff members, including Faye, who was in charge, stood behind the check-in counter. This was clearly the right job for the thin, fortyish pet lover, and her part-time assistants seemed to enjoy it, too. Faye was talking with someone I assumed was a pet owner, but she immediately caught my eye. In moments, she was walking toward me, even as one of the assistants, Charlie, came from a corner where a pack of dogs of different sizes were playing and took over Biscuit’s care, unhooking her from her leash.
Charlie was one of a couple of college students who worked at the daycare to help determine if they wanted to study to become vets. As always, he wore a bright red T-shirt that said Knobcone Vets Rock over jeans.
“How are you today?” I asked him.
“Real good, Carrie,” he replied.
Faye joined us. “Hi, Carrie,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”
That sounded worrisome, but I smiled at Charlie anyway and reached into my bag to hand him the small plastic-wrapped bunch of treats for the dogs here. I bent down to give Biscuit a farewell hug, then joined Faye as she headed toward the door to the hospital.
“What’s up?” I asked when we were alone in the hallway.
Instead of answering, she nodded down the hall. The busy corridor was uncharacteristically empty at that moment, given that it was one of the main ways that doctors, techs, patients, and their owners slipped between the examination rooms. I only saw one person at that moment: Reed.
“He wants to meet with you right away,” Faye said, and immediately slipped back inside the daycare facility.
I was glad, as always, to see Reed. He looked good in his white veterinarian scrubs that contrasted nicely with his dark wavy hair. Plus, it was late enough in the day for him to have a bit of beard-shadow.
As I started to say hi, I saw the expression on his face: challenging? Concerned? Upset?
“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately. Before he could respond, another of the techs, Kayle, appeared, leading a woman carrying a Maltese down the hall.
Reed grabbed my arm and led me to an examination room. “I just heard the news of another murder in town. I gather it’s that nasty woman, Wanda. You’re not involved with this one, are you?”
Was I? I wasn’t about to lie to Reed. “Maybe,” I admitted. “Jack told me he found her, and he was concerned he’d be a suspect.”
“That’s no surprise, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually did it.” Reed peered down at me, his brown eyes appraising but also a bit teasing. “If you don’t want to ruin your record of solving all the murders you look into, don’t take this one on, especially if you hope to clear your pal Jack.”
“Well, I’m two for two,” I said as lightly as I could. But then I grew more serious. “And if I do start trying to figure this one out, it might be to help Jack, but it could also be to help Billi. She’s a potential suspect too.”
Reed’s expression became pensive. “I hadn’t considered that. I only heard about it a little while ago. And—well, we know it couldn’t have been Billi. I understand your concern. But—well, Carrie, I’ll worry about you if you get involved. As usual.”
A lot of noise sounded around us, and Arvie trooped into the hall with an Irish setter on a leash, followed by several twenty-something guys.
“Hi, Carrie,” he called. “Can you help with a patient? Change first, of course, but I’d like you to join me.”
And I needed a little space from Reed, though I’d want to talk with him later.
“Sure,” I said. “Be there as soon as I can.” After turning and waving toward Reed, I hurried to the locker room to put on my scrubs as fast as I could. I stuck the remaining treats in my locker.
Arvie must have been watching for me, since when I returned to the hall he immediately reappeared without the dog and led me into one of the treatment rooms. There, a familiar woman named Elva stood holding an even more familiar cat, Leo, against her as he stood on the metal examination table. Leo had been injured, scratched up in an actual cat fight, and not for the first time. Maybe for the sixth or seventh, or even more if he hadn’t been brought to our clinic each time. Apparently the sleek and golden Leo, perhaps considering himself a lion, liked to fight. Since we were the only veterinary clinic in town, I suspected his adversary today might be here soon as well.
“You know what to do,” Arvie whispered to me as he walked forward to talk to Elva, holding the clipboard with Leo’s chart. I approached them as well and used a sterile towel to carefully pick Leo up. He glared at me but didn’t attempt to scratch or get away. He knew what came next.
First, though, Arvie once more scolded Elva for allowing her cat, who should clearly be kept inside and away from the neighbors’ pets, to go outside and pick a fight.
Of course, Elva protested—again—that poor Leo was the one who was always being picked on. I listened to Arvie’s firm but kind protestations and warnings while I carried slumping Leo to our treatment room. Ron, another vet tech, was there and assisted me by holding the cat while I shaved the wounded areas and treated them with antiseptics, sticking bandages on the couple of worst ones.
“You’d think his owner would learn,” Ron said, shaking his head.
“You’d think so,” I agreed.
When I was finished, I carried towel-clad Leo back to the examination room. Arvie was no longer there, but Elva was.
I placed Leo gingerly on the table and took the towel away. “I suspect I don’t have to tell you what to do for him now,” I said.
“I already have the antibiotics from Dr. Kline, and I have the special soap and ointment at home still, and—okay. I heard him this time, honest. I’ll take better care of my little Leo.” The last was said in baby talk, right to her cat’s face.
“I’m really glad to hear that.” I said my goodbyes and left the room, recalling that promise from previous visits, too. And not beli
eving that Elva would change what she was doing—or not doing—to protect her poor ornery pet.
When I got into the hall, I was surprised to see Arvie waiting there. “Let’s talk, shall we, Carrie?” he asked.
“Sure.”
I followed him down the hall, through the reception area, and onto the front porch of the blue chalet-like building that housed the animal hospital. It was nearly empty now, even though it was a place where people often waited till they could have their pets seen. No wonder; it was chilly out here and rain seemed even more threatening.
Arvie stopped at the wooden rail at the farthest end of the porch from the entry door. When he turned, the expression on his sweet face seemed concerned.
I had a feeling I knew what he wanted to discuss. Just like with Reed.
I decided to preempt it. “Yes, I’ve heard about Wanda. And since I heard about it from Jack, who’s likely a suspect and also kind of a friend of mine, I realize you might think I’m going to jump right in and start my own investigation. Again. But—”
As I spoke, I continued to watch Arvie closely, and concluded that maybe I was wrong about what he’d wanted. He looked confused at first. Then amused. And now, brown eyes twinkling beneath white brows that matched the wispy hair on his head, he started to laugh, at least a little.
“Well, I did hear about that,” he said. “Reed mentioned it in passing. He’s worried about you. Again. But what I wanted to ask you was something different. Related, perhaps, since I know you’ve been negotiating with Jack to sell recipes to his company, and what I gathered was that Wanda also worked for VimPets and the two of them were competing over you.”
I nodded, figuring that he and Reed must have shared several conversations about what was going on with this cast of characters.
“That’s possibly why Jack will be considered a suspect,” I said. “When he called me, it wasn’t completely clear that Wanda was dead.” Although his description of her hadn’t allowed for much dispute. “And Wanda had threatened his job, too.”
“Well, I’d really rather you stay out of it, for your sake and for Reed’s.”
I began to protest Reed’s involvement, but Arvie just laughed again. “Oh, he’s involved, all right, if you are. But in any event, what I wanted to ask you about is recipes and baking. We have a couple of new dog patients with irritable bowel disease. I’ve gotten them on the prescription food, but I wanted to suggest that you come up with some additional low-fat treats for them. And then maybe you can sell the new recipes to VimPets. Or not. Whichever you choose.”
“Oh,” I said. “I have some ideas for that but haven’t implemented them yet.”
“Anyway, just be careful, Carrie.” Now Arvie’s eyes were caring, his head cocked, and I wanted to give him a hug.
He initiated one instead. And as I stood there with my arms around him, holding his thin body close, he continued, “But I won’t be at all surprised if this becomes your third murder investigation.”
Eight
The rest of my three-hour shift was busy. I assisted Arvie a couple more times, and then worked with Reed on taking case histories of two new dog patients and giving them shots.
We were all acting totally professional. No more talk about murders or even treats and their recipes.
I took time between patients to retrieve some remaining treats from my locker. I left them at the main reception desk in the waiting room with the person signing patients in that day—Yolanda, a highly skilled but often grumpy vet tech. She didn’t seem exactly impressed about my creations, but that wasn’t anything new with her.
While I worked, I was able to concentrate fully on my responsibilities, my love of our patients, and my desire to have them all leave here well and happy. That was the outcome with most of them that day, although we did have to hospitalize a young French bulldog who had eaten rat poison in a neighbor’s yard. He was ill and weak but had been brought in soon enough to get the poison purged. He stood a good chance of recovery, but we needed to keep watch over him.
On the whole, it was a good shift, but the moment it was over and I’d changed back to my regular clothes and grabbed what was left of the dog treats I’d brought, I needed to run. I’d already decided to visit Billi at Mountaintop Rescue but I wouldn’t be able to stay long. I’d need to return to my shops as soon as possible.
Despite my concern about timing, though, I hoped to say goodbye to both Reed and Arvie. I hurried down the hall to Arvie when I saw him leave an examination room. “My next shift is on Saturday,” I said. This was Thursday. “I can’t say I’ll keep my nose out of the Wanda situation. It really depends.” Like, I was about to see Billi, and her possible involvement as a murder suspect would affect how much I tried to learn the truth—if at all. “We can talk then and I’ll let you know. I’ll also consider a new recipe or two, like we discussed. You can always call me.”
“I know I can.” He stepped forward and gave me a hug. “You can always call me, as well. I wish you would. I’ll be concerned about you all over again.”
“And call me, too.” That was Reed, who had just exited from the next examination room and joined us. “In fact, how’s dinner tonight? You can join us, Arvie, if you’d like.”
“Can’t,” he said. “I’ve got a poker game. But let me know what she says.” He directed that to Reed. Then to me, he said, “You will join him for dinner, won’t you? The two of you need to do that more.”
I laughed. “So where’s your bow and arrow, Cupid?”
Both guys laughed but neither disputed the image.
I said to Reed, “Yes, that sounds good to me. But I’m off to Mountaintop Rescue now and might need to spend more time than usual at the shops, after being away so long this afternoon.”
I didn’t mention my visit to Cuppa-Joe’s, though that had definitely added to my time away. Not that I didn’t trust my assistants, but there were things I needed to do before the shops were closed each day.
“We’ll talk later and figure out a time,” Reed said. Arvie nodded and strode away. Reed, though, walked toward me. He reached out and grasped my arm gently. His expression suggested he’d like to kiss me, but a couple of the other techs passed us in the hall, leading a couple of medium-sized dogs and their owners to other rooms.
“Yes,” I said. “We’ll talk later.” I turned and headed toward doggy daycare to pick up Biscuit.
Mountaintop Rescue was only a couple of blocks along Hill Street from the veterinary clinic. Biscuit and I walked there in just a few minutes, even as other people and their pets, many of whom were local residents, passed us and either said or sniffed their greetings.
As seen from the road, Mountaintop Rescue was an attractive, gold-colored stucco building, a couple of floors tall and well-decorated with windows surrounded in tile. Beyond the administration building was the heart of the place: other structures that housed the resident animals in nice enclosures that weren’t difficult to keep clean.
When we arrived, Billi wasn’t there. The receptionist, Mimi, greeted us with big smiles, especially when I handed her the bag of remaining treats. She was in college part-time, busty and pale and enthusiastic. She always wore shirts with dogs, or sometimes cats, on them—this time, a bright blue one that said Every day’s a dog day and had a picture of a German shepherd on it.
“Our residents really love your stuff, Carrie,” she said. “I love to give them biscuits. It helps them feel better about not having forever homes yet.”
“I hope so,” I said. “I’m sorry I missed Billi.”
“She’ll be sorry too. She said she had to give a class or something at her spa.” That would be the Robust Retreat, which Billi owned. She loved it, and went there often to manage it and participate in or teach some of its exercise programs and massages.
“I’ll drop in on her there,” I told Mimi. “In case I miss her again, though, please let he
r know I was here.”
“Definitely. And Biscuit too, of course.”
“Of course,” I said with a big grin, stooping to give the object of our current discussion a gentle pat.
Biscuit and I walked quickly from the shelter back to the shops, which were on the way. I left my dog for a minute in the Barkery while I checked to make sure all was okay—which it was. In fact, it was quite good, since both shops were busy. But my assistants didn’t appear stressed. Janelle was in the Barkery, and Vicky and Dinah were in Icing.
“I’ll be back in less than an hour,” I told Dinah.
“No problem,” she said.
Biscuit and I then headed down Peak Road several blocks till we reached Robust Retreat. Located in a nice retail area of Knobcone Heights, the spa had a large storefront with attractive marble-
veneered exterior walls as well as wide windows that allowed passersby to peek into the front room, toward the main exercise area. The heated spa and massage sections sat behind the walls at the other end of the reception desk.
I pulled open the front door and let Biscuit walk in on her leash ahead of me. I was immediately struck by the loud voice from the filled workout area to the right. More than a dozen women were on wide woven mats on the floor, following the instructions of their leader—who was, in fact, Billi.
One of her assistants, standing near the entrance to the workout room, looked up and motioned toward me. She probably thought I had come to participate in the exercises but arrived late.
I enlightened her quickly. I directed Biscuit toward the wall to our left, hurrying toward the reception desk without interrupting the program.
I met Billi’s eyes momentarily, though. She stood at the front in a form-fitting charcoal exercise outfit, her eyes huge, her expression more intense than I’d ever seen before … and I’d seen her pretty intense at times. As she punched the air, one fist at a time, rolling her entire body with the punches, she counted aloud, “ Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.” The students did the same, in varying degrees of strength and agility. But no one else’s punches appeared as powerful as Billi’s.
Bad to the Bone Page 7
