Pick and Chews

by Linda O. Johnston

  “Yeah. I called her on that, and she said that when she lost patients she’d just make it clear they couldn’t be healed, so she wouldn’t be lying.”

  “But to give their owners hope like that … ”

  “She’s not only incompetent but also cruel.” Reed’s voice was no longer the cool, emotionless one he’d started out with, and I almost regretted, for his sake, having this conversation.

  Even so, I asked, “Can’t you report her to the Veterinary Board?” The California Veterinary Medical Board was the state’s official organization in charge of veterinary licenses and procedures and maintaining professional standards—including investigating and punishing vets who harmed animals because the care given didn’t meet those standards.

  “Not until she does something wrong, other than make threats.” Now Reed sounded defeated. I wished there was something I could do right away to cheer him up. Which would probably require doing something right away to close Raela and her new vet clinic down.

  Not something I would likely be able to do. And maybe no one else here in town could do it either.

  I would ponder it, though, without saying anything to Reed. No sense in giving him any hope.

  “Well,” I finally said, “Arvie told me he was holding a meeting tomorrow with the entire staff to talk about the Raela situation. Do you know when he’s scheduled it for?”

  “I think it’ll be around eleven in the morning, but I’m sure someone will call you to confirm.”

  In other words, not him. Well, that wasn’t one of Reed’s duties as a vet, to communicate this kind of info to a vet tech. Plus, at the moment we were speaking to each other more as coworkers than as a man and woman with a possible romantic interest.

  “Fine,” I said. “So I’ll most likely see you tomorrow.”

  “Right,” he replied. “Good night, Carrie.” And then he hung up.

  I got an opportunity to say good night to Neal, too, just as I was going to bed. I’d already taken Biscuit out for the last time that night and had changed into my PJs, so I spoke very briefly to my tall, casually dressed bro in the kitchen, where he was getting a bottle of water to take to bed—although I did mention Reed’s visit to the new clinic to him.

  It was occupying too much of my mind to just ignore. And maybe my brother’s interest and sympathy helped to clear that mind of mine at least a little, since I did get some sleep.

  I woke up even earlier than my alarm the next morning, though—something that rarely happened since it went off early enough for me to get to my shops around five a.m. or so, and start baking around six. Biscuit knew this schedule too, and seemed to like that I let her run loose in the Barkery till almost our opening time of seven o’clock. Or at least I read that in her happy gait and waggy tail.

  I wondered how Biscuit would do if Raela were to treat her for some illness … and shuddered at the idea. Even if something went gravely wrong and the Knobcone Vet Clinic closed thanks to that woman, I’d find somewhere else to take Biscuit. Somewhere I trusted the vets.

  I sighed as I went into the shop kitchen, scrubbed my hands, and got ingredients ready for some of my favorite healthy carob dog treats. I tried to concentrate on cooking and managed to keep going even when Frida, my first assistant to arrive that day, began baking Icing goodies. I very happily talked to her about the latest non-bakery treats she was creating at home, since she loved all kinds of cooking. Her fiancé was a manager at the supermarket I’d stopped at the night before, which was the reason they’d moved here. As a graduate of the Art Institute of California, Frida had worked as a chef while living in LA, and now created her own gourmet people food in her off hours.

  Our conversation therefore was all about food and creativity, nothing about dogs or doggy care—or a new veterinarian in town. And that helped the time go faster.

  Soon, we had all the initial goods of the day either in the oven or on trays to be put in the refrigerated cases in each shop—all baked and stored separately, of course. At a little before seven, I went into the Barkery specifically to take Biscuit for another walk before confining her in her large, open crate area.

  Time to open up. And business started out well in both shops.

  I had to focus on my goods and customers and business. I hardly thought at all about what was going on regarding my vet clinic … or the other one.

  Until Kayle called me. It was about eight thirty and Dinah had arrived to help out too, so I went over to work in Icing. When my phone rang, therefore, I had no problem stepping to the side of the shop and answering.

  “Are you available at eleven o’clock for the meeting here at the clinic?” Kayle asked.

  My shifts were usually in the afternoon, but this meeting was anything but ordinary. “Sure,” I said.

  “See you then.”

  Things at both shops were fairly busy at ten forty-five as I prepared to hurry to the clinic. But Dinah was there to help Frida. Even if I’d had to close one of the shops for an hour or so, I was going to go to that meeting. I was glad, though, that closing was unnecessary.

  I brought Biscuit along with me. Our walk across the Knobcone Heights town square to the clinic was as fast as I could make it without our running. I wanted to be there for the beginning.

  Which I was, even after dropping Biscuit off in daycare. We all were crowded into Arvie’s office, although Yolanda had been charged with checking the reception area to make sure all the humans there knew their pets would be seen soon. Still, calls had been made to delay appointments during that time, and a sign hung on the door saying that the clinic was closed for a half an hour, starting at eleven.

  Surely a half hour would be enough time for us all to learn what the anticipated future of our clinic would be with the new competition in town—whether or not it was competent competition.

  Dr. Paul Jensin sat beside Arvie, on his side of the desk, and I wondered whether this less-senior but highly devoted vet now wished that he, like Dr. Angela Regles, had decided to retire or run away.

  Then there was Reed. Somehow we were seated beside one another. The staff of veterinarians and vet techs here wasn’t huge, and they probably all knew that Reed and I had been seeing one another, so maybe there was an unspoken agreement to ensure that our seats were together. Or maybe it had just happened randomly. I’d arrived first, and Reed had sat down second—and now we could have held hands if that had been appropriate. Which it wasn’t.

  I wasn’t surprised that our newest vet, Dr. Jon Arden, was on Reed’s other side. After all, they’d been colleagues in San Diego, and Reed was the reason Jon had come to interview with us.

  Although I now wondered if it had been a really dumb idea, under the current circumstances.

  Arvie began the meeting. “I imagine you’re all aware that Dr. Raela Fellner, a former veterinary coworker of Reed’s and Jon’s, is opening a new clinic here in town.” He raised one of the flyers Raela had brought. “There’s been some question about her motives and her competency and more. We know she has already started trying to convince the owners of some of our patients to go to her clinic instead. She’s probably badmouthing us—or at least Reed. Here’s how we’re going to handle this.”

  For the next few minutes, Arvie made it very clear that everyone at Knobcone Veterinary Clinic would rise above what it appeared that Raela intended to do. We would continue to do a superior job of caring for our patients, both to prevent and to treat illness and injury. We would, where appropriate, pat ourselves on the back and suggest that the pleased owners of pets we cared for do the same, letting others know what a great place this is.

  “And we will not stoop to the level that Dr. Fellner appears to be approaching. Unless we have specific examples of how she has committed malpractice, we won’t suggest that she’s an incompetent vet. Do you all understand?”

  Everyone got it, even Reed. His smile was grim, but he nodded along with everyone else.

  “You okay with that?” I asked.

  “I have
to be,” he responded.

  The office door was suddenly thrust open. Yolanda had gone out to check on the reception area again, so I wasn’t surprised—until the sometimes cantankerous tech seemed to leap into the room, an expression of surprise and horror on her face rather than grumpiness.

  Talk about horror. I felt it probably even more than she did when I saw who followed her into Arvie’s office, which already seemed barely large enough for our staff. Suddenly it seemed completely cramped.

  Two people whom I’d unfortunately gotten to know over the past year—starting when I’d been a major suspect in a murder and continuing when I’d helped friends who later became suspects in other murders clear their names—now entered and looked around: Detective Wayne Crunoll and Detective Bridget Morana.

  “Ah, good,” Wayne said. He was dressed in a white shirt and dark pants with an official belt around his waist and looked officially on duty. The same went for Bridget. “It appears that a number of people we want to touch base with are right here.” He aimed a nasty smile at me—but I quickly realized that he wasn’t looking directly at me, but at Reed.

  What was going on?

  I found out too soon. “I’d like to inform all of you”—but his stare remained on Reed—“that there has been another homicide in Knobcone Heights. An apparent murder.”

  He stopped then, as if anticipating that someone would demand to know who the victim was. If so, he wasn’t disappointed.

  Even before he spoke, my heart had started to sink. I thought I knew who it had to be. And I was right.

  “Who are you talking about?” Arvie demanded.

  “Another veterinarian,” Wayne said. “A newcomer to our town. Dr. Raela Fellner.”

  Ten

  I participated in the collective gasp and murmurs of the group. Probably none of us liked the woman. In fact, most who’d met her probably detested her.

  But that didn’t mean any of us would have killed her … did it?

  Yet why else would these detectives have come here? I suspected they were planning inquisitions for at least some of us.

  I couldn’t help it. I glanced up toward the face of the man sitting beside me. Of everyone here, even including Jon, Reed had known her best and possibly liked her least. But kill her?

  Surely not.

  I hoped.

  And what was going on with our nice quiet town? So many murders in so little time.

  A myriad of questions began flooding my mind, but I figured this wasn’t the best time to ask. As it turned out, my opinion didn’t matter. Arvie stood up and begin demanding, “What happened to her? How was she killed?”

  And who do you think did it? was the next question that came to mind. But I figured I’d be glad for now if the two detectives started out by answering Arvie.

  “She was found this morning,” Bridget said. Detective Morana was middle-aged, older than her colleague, and had bushy eyebrows and a chilly stare. Most of the staff here knew her, since her cat Butterball was a patient at our hospital. They knew Wayne as well because his dachshunds Blade and Magnum—whom he claimed belonged to his wife, though I saw him with them often, even at my shops—were also our patients.

  “Where?” Arvie demanded. “And again, how was she killed?”

  “We’re not at liberty to divulge what we know so far,” Wayne replied smoothly. “The investigation is only just beginning, so we don’t have answers yet anyway. But we do have a lot of questions. I’m glad to see so many of you here—unexpected, but we’ll take advantage of it by informing you right away that we want to talk to each of you. We are aware that there was some friction between the employees here at the Knobcone Veterinary Clinic and Dr. Fellner, thanks to her opening a new and competing animal hospital. We’d like to interview everyone here to learn what you knew about Dr. Fellner and her contacts in town.”

  And interrogate several of us who might have felt some antipathy toward the woman who’d wanted to put our clinic out of business, I thought.

  Uh oh. Would I be considered a murder suspect again? I certainly hoped not.

  But I also wasn’t thrilled to imagine that some people I cared about might be at the top of the suspect list. That seemed to happen much too much.

  “So here’s what we’d like to do,” Bridget said.

  The two detectives hadn’t moved from their positions near the doorway, blocking it so no one could get out. Given a choice, I might have run out shrieking … or not. But I did admit to myself that my emotions were already fraying.

  Another murder. One I couldn’t ignore.

  I realized then that Bridget hadn’t stopped speaking despite my momentary lapse of concentration on what she was saying. And when I began listening again, I wished I hadn’t.

  “Yes, we recognize that you have patients in your waiting room already and more coming in,” the detective continued, apparently in response to Arvie’s complaint about her demand to start interviewing us right away. “If you’d like, you can designate a liaison between us and the pet owners so we can work out which of you to interview, in what order.” Her gaze seemed to stop at me.

  Me? I couldn’t even stay at the clinic very long after the meeting. I didn’t have a shift scheduled, and I had to return to my shops.

  Yet I—unfortunately—had likely spent more time with these detectives than anyone else here. They might listen to me, at least a little bit.

  Maybe I could even help my fellow clinic staff members in some manner, smoothing over what would undoubtedly be closer to interrogations than interviews, or at least help to schedule them in the least intrusive order, whatever that might be.

  “I’ll be glad to help out,” I heard myself say. “I can tell from the computer what the patient schedule is today, and I’ll work with that, at least for now. But I can only stay here at the clinic for another hour or so.”

  “Good enough,” Wayne said. “Though it’ll be best if we interview you first. Our discussions today are preliminary and likely to be short anyway.”

  “I’ll talk to the pet owners who are here and ask if anyone would like to be rescheduled,” Kayle said. He was good at smoothing the ruffled feathers of pet birds—and their owners, and others—when he staffed the waiting room, so that was a good idea.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have volunteered. But Wayne’s stare had more than suggested that he wanted me to. At least he hadn’t demanded that I do so for the rest of the day.

  “Fine,” he said now to Kayle. “Please show us to an empty room where we can start—and after we’ve spoken with you, Carrie, we’ll want you to give us a printout of the order we’ll be talking to the others here.”

  Which was interesting in itself. I had to assume that Raela had been killed sometime the night before, or early that morning. For the detectives on the case to immediately devote themselves to speaking with one group of people … why?

  There was something important that they already knew that they weren’t revealing to us.

  What was it?

  We all soon rose—Reed included. Like most of the other vets, he didn’t have his white jacket on yet, not at this meeting. I noticed that his shirt was an attractive light green color.

  “You okay with this?” he asked me, his voice low.

  That was what I should have been asking him. I didn’t know yet when exactly the detectives would be interviewing him, of course. If Raela was killed the previous night, the cops probably didn’t know a whole lot at this point about her new clinic and the specific nature of her conflict with us, or at least not as much as they were likely to find out soon.

  Especially from everyone they would be talking to here. Most likely no one was unaware of the reasons Raela had shown up at our clinic and knew about her complaints, especially regarding Reed.

  “Sure, I’m okay,” I said to Reed. “I just wish I could be in the room when they talk to you.” I glanced toward the detectives. Fortunately, their attention was on Arvie, who spoke with them near the door. I hoped he was just as
king questions rather than talking about the staff’s opinions on Raela, or who liked her least.

  “Why?” Reed asked. His smile was wry, as if he was joking. “I know you’ve come to think of yourself as an amateur detective. But we’re friends. I hope you’re not intending to throw me in front of this particular bus. I imagine I’m going to be the chief person of interest, or whatever they prefer calling the suspect they want to toss in jail immediately.”

  Instead of smiling back in any way, I glared at him, hurt surging through me. “Why on earth would I want to put any blame on you?” Because of his attitude toward the murder victim? Sure, Reed had disliked her. But … but he was Reed. He saved lives, not took them.

  Although he might believe that keeping Raela from treating any sick animals would in fact save lives.

  I banished that nasty thought from my head as I continued, “You may be the one who argued with her most since her arrival, so I won’t be surprised if these detectives leap on you as their main suspect. But surely they know that the person who appears to be the most likely killer is often not guilty.”

  “You’ve certainly taught them that lately,” Reed said, his tone ironic. “Well, I doubt they’ll let you be present, although I’ll ask for a lawyer if they start asking questions that seem at all accusatory. That’s what I should do, right?”

  “Yes, and I might caution others to do the same thing. Not in the detectives’ presence, though.”

  I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Wayne was walking toward me around the seated crowd. Time to start my interrogation, I figured. Did I need a lawyer? After all, I hadn’t liked Raela either. I’d just have to see how things went.

  “And Carrie,” Reed said, his voice almost a whisper in my ear. “I know I pushed you not to get involved the last time someone died, to make sure you stayed safe and all. But—well, I definitely want you to stay safe. But if things go as I’m afraid they will—well, maybe you could use the experience you’ve gained to find the real killer so that I won’t get charged with Raela’s murder.” He looked me straight in the face then, his beautiful dark brown eyes sad and pleading.