Pick and Chews

by Linda O. Johnston

  Heck, this was ironic—especially after the last situation, where he’d eventually backed down and recognized that I was going to try to figure out who the killer was whether he liked the idea or not.

  But of course I would help him.

  I only hoped he was innocent.

  The empty room assigned for our inquisitions—er, interviews—was the office formerly occupied by Dr. Angela Regles and about to be occupied by Dr. Jon Arden. It was a couple of doors away from Arvie’s and nearly as large as his, although Arvie had chosen to keep his office fairly empty. Yes, he had a desk and several chairs, but other than the computer, the room contained hardly anything else.

  Dr. Regles’s old office had all of that, and, in addition, a file cabinet and some end tables, as if it were a hangout not only for its veterinary occupant but also for other people—pet owners, techs, other vets, whoever. I had almost never been invited in there, and when I was, it was to discuss a particular patient.

  Since I was the one who actually worked in the clinic, I preceded the two detectives into the office and planted myself in the chair behind the desk, letting them maneuver around the other chairs and tables and sit down facing me. Never mind that they undoubtedly considered themselves in charge. I wanted to take control—at least as much as I could.

  “Okay, Carrie,” Wayne began. We were on a first name basis since I’d been doing their job for a while—or at least solving the murder cases they worked on. And I seemed to always have the most contact with Wayne. The expression on his face at the moment appeared almost amused, not appropriate for a murder investigation. I kept my look as solemn but interested as I could.

  “You’ve become quite a successful amateur sleuth,” he continued, “so I’ll ask you right up front: who do you think did it?”

  “Even an amateur sleuth needs more information than just hearing that someone has apparently been murdered.” I sat back, crossing my arms and looking from Wayne to Bridget. She, at least, appeared serious.

  “I’m not surprised you want more details,” she said, no expression in her tone. “Well, I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that what we want from you is to learn what you know. I gather you met Dr. Fellner, correct?”

  “Correct.” I could have gone into a dissertation about how Raela had burst into the clinic and started badmouthing Reed and his skills and ours and more, but this was their meeting. The detectives could ask me questions, and I’d answer as well as I could without pointing potential fingers at anyone.

  Including myself.

  “So tell us about it,” Wayne said, bursting the bubble I was building around myself. But only partially. I still needed to be careful.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I mean, tell us how you met her, what the circumstances were, how she got along with whoever happened to be around, that kind of thing.” Wayne no longer appeared amused, and his tone approached belligerent. He leaned forward in his chair and pulled a pen and small notebook from a pocket, as if he wanted to jot down everything I said.

  If I told him all of my perceptions, he probably would have noted everything down. But I told him only the facts of what I’d seen regarding the interactions between Raela and the vets around our clinic. I also mentioned the flyers she’d handed out in the reception area and her related comments, without offering any opinions.

  “So there were three veterinarians here with a history with Dr. Fellner,” Bridget said when I’d finished. “And none appeared to like her.”

  “That’s what I understand, but their irritation with her didn’t give me a sense that they wished her any harm—although I gathered they did want her to return to the San Diego office where they’d all worked.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Wayne said. Sure enough, he was jotting down something on that little pad. I wasn’t sure whether I’d seen him do it earlier. “Well, that’s not enough reason to arrest anyone. I’m sure you’re glad to hear that, since I gather you and Dr. Storme are good buddies … or more.”

  So they were focusing on Reed. Or was I jumping to a conclusion?

  “Now, is there anything else you can tell us?” Wayne continued. “Like, who do you think could have murdered Dr. Fellner?”

  “If it’s too soon for you to have any good suspects, it’s surely too early for an amateur like me,” I said. “But if you really want my help, you could tell me how she was found and how she died. Maybe that will help me put things into perspective and recall something else important that will help you.”

  I was really pushing things, and I didn’t expect I’d get any response except laughter. Me, help them? And them give me any genuine information?

  Hah.

  Except … over the next few minutes, after the two detectives shared a glance, Wayne actually did give me a brief summation of the little they knew so far.

  It turned out that Oliver Browning had been the one to find Raela’s body in an exam room at her new clinic. He’d gone there at around nine that morning to talk to her briefly, since, Wayne said, he intended to return to San Diego that day. I assumed that must have been to talk to the powers-that-be at his clinic there before making a definite decision as to whether to move to Knobcone Heights.

  Had Oliver argued, then or previously, with Raela? Did he have a motive to kill her? Wayne didn’t get into that, even if he had more information or an opinion about it.

  In any event, although I hadn’t liked Raela, I still felt sorry that she’d died, especially so abruptly.

  Wayne went on to mention that the first thing Oliver had done was call 911. He then apparently tried to resuscitate Raela but failed.

  That was all they told me about the discovery of Raela’s body—except for the most interesting, and most scary, bit of information. They said that the county coroner was in the process of doing an autopsy on the deceased vet, checking whether the cause of her death was a lethal injection of the drug commonly used for animal euthanasia.

  The detectives provided no detail about why they suspected, or knew, this little detail.

  But it was undoubtedly why they’d come here, to the original veterinary clinic in town, where some of the employees had a potential grudge against the murder victim—and all of the employees, unlike the general public, probably had access to that kind of drug and would know how to use it.

  Eleven

  Wayne must have been reading my thoughts. “Hey, you’re a veterinary technician. I bet you could have thought of that—and would have the skills to do it.”

  “I thought you weren’t here to accuse me,” I countered. I didn’t need to mention how many people at the clinic possessed the knowledge that I did, some even more. Nor did I remind him that a hypodermic needle as a possible murder weapon had arisen during the first murder case I’d become involved in.

  I assumed that the drug used to kill Raela was probably pentobarbital. To euthanize a poor, ailing dog, the dosage didn’t have to be huge—but pentobarbital was also used in some states as the drug of preference for lethal injections of humans sentenced to the death penalty.

  Of course, the medical examiner had not had Raela’s body very long, given that she’d just been found that morning. Even if there had been other evidence at the scene indicating that a euthanasia drug was used—like a hypodermic needle, empty vials of the poison, or a prick in her skin—they would still have to finish the autopsy to confirm whether or not the drug was in fact what killed her.

  Or so I assumed. The detectives were just starting their inquiries and also making assumptions, which could change.

  “So is there anything else you’re aware of that we should know, Carrie?” Wayne asked.

  “Not now,” I said.

  “But you may think of something in the future.” That was Bridget. “May we assume that you’re going to stick your nose into this investigation, Carrie?” Her expression appeared tolerant and vaguely amused by the idea—except for the flash in her light brown eyes.

  “I’d rather not, of cours
e,” I replied. “But like the other times, if you wind up believing that the culprit is someone I care about and I know you’re wrong, then—”

  “Well, I’m sure we’re going to be seeing a lot of you, then,” Wayne interrupted. “I’m naming no names, not even yours, but I think you can understand why we need to check into your fellow vets and vet techs, just in case. And I assume you care about at least some of them.”

  Oh, did I want to wipe that grin off his face.

  Especially since I knew exactly who he was going to consider his most likely suspect.

  And all I could do for the time being was hope I would be able to find enough information on someone else to clear Reed.

  My interrogation was pretty much over. I could breathe again.

  But who else around here could?

  Since I’d been named as the detectives’ primary contact for at least an hour, I hurried to the reception area, hoping Kayle would still be the one working there.

  He wasn’t. Instead, Yolanda governed the place, which, unsurprisingly considering the delay, was crammed full of pets and their owners. Some people talked to one another, and though I didn’t attempt to eavesdrop—much—I could guess that at least some were discussing having to wait … and why.

  Did any of them know anything about last night’s murder? I couldn’t exactly ask, and I didn’t have time just to sit there and listen.

  Instead, I hustled up to the desk where Yolanda was the greeter. As usual, her black hair was pulled back into a bun, which somehow emphasized the attractiveness of her face.

  Now, though, she aimed a frown at me. “They’re done with you?” she asked.

  “Right. And I need to get the detectives the schedule they requested.”

  “You’re lucky. Kayle likes you, so while you were being questioned he checked with all of us and figured out who could best talk when.”

  She handed me a piece of paper containing a proposed schedule, presumably created on the computer and printed out.

  “May I have another one?” I asked.

  “I printed several, of course. One for each of us. That one’s the detectives’, and here’s yours.” She shoved another copy at me.

  “Thanks.” I glanced at the page. “Does everyone here know when they’re to be interviewed?”

  “Not precisely, though we’re all pretty much aware of the order.”

  The order seemed to me to run from the most likely suspect to the least—starting with Reed, and ending with sweet, energetic Kayle. I noticed that Yolanda’s name was near the bottom, which made sense. I couldn’t think of a motive for her to murder Raela.

  Which might mean I should keep her at the top of my suspect list, considering the way things had gone in the past.

  “Great,” I said. “I’ll let the detectives know.” And on my way back to their office, I’d find Reed and make sure he was aware he was up next.

  Yolanda seemed to read my mind. “In case you’re wondering, Reed is in treatment room four with a dog who came in with a severe wheezing issue. I’m not sure how long he’ll be there.”

  By design? The vets didn’t necessarily get to choose which patients they saw, although owners could request certain vets. In any case, until the animal arrived, it was hard to tell how long any exam or treatment might take.

  I wasn’t going to ask if Reed did this intentionally. Instead, I glanced at the sheet again and asked, “How about Arvie? Is he available?”

  This time Yolanda’s grin seemed more triumphant. “I’ve already let him know the situation, and he’s in his office waiting to be told to go talk to the detectives. You going to tell him he’s up next?”

  “Sure. Thanks. And … ” I glanced around the waiting room. “I need to head back to my shops soon, but I’ll hold off a bit since we’re so busy here.”

  “And so you can see Reed.” Yolanda glanced at the computer as a patient with a golden retriever on a leash followed Kayle into the reception area. “Looks like someone’s exam is over,” she said. “Kayle will figure out the bill and determine which patient is up next. You available to help out then?”

  “Sure.” I only hoped that whichever patient it turned out to be, I wouldn’t have to spend a whole lot of time on the case.

  “And by the way, the owner didn’t designate which vet to see, and the next one up is our newbie, Dr. Jon.”

  “Great. It’ll be interesting to work with him.” And perhaps question him. Jon was one of the few people who’d known Raela for a while. He had apparently disliked her, too. Enough to kill her?

  I’d certainly rather it be him than Reed.

  Kayle took over the reception desk. He was fine with me helping out with the next patient of the day—which was also my only patient of the day.

  First, though, I hurried down to Jon’s future office to give the printout to the detectives. Bridget was on the phone, and Wayne was pacing the room. “Sorry,” I said. “Here’s the proposed schedule, but it’s already changing. Reed is in with a patient now so I’ll go tell Arvie to come and see you.”

  Which I did. He didn’t look thrilled, but he did remark before leaving his office that at least he’d be getting this over with.

  Sure, as long as the detectives didn’t decide to pin the murder on him.

  Especially since it was detectives, plural. I’d usually only been questioned by one at a time. I wasn’t sure whether they considered this latest murder more challenging, or more interesting, or what. Not that it really mattered to me.

  I walked Arvie, who was in his official white veterinary jacket, down the hall. “Good luck,” I said.

  “Were they hard on you?” he asked, his aging face even more full of wrinkles than usual.

  “Not especially. I think they’re just looking for information before zeroing in on someone as their chief person of interest.”

  “Well, let’s hope they don’t zero in on anyone here.” Arvie waved at me, then shoved the office door open without knocking.

  I had a feeling that my boss would do a darned good job of standing up to the two cops.

  Of course, the interview I would most have liked to sit in on was Reed’s. Kayle, still at the desk after I finished helping Jon with his patient, told me that Reed was currently in talking with the two detectives.

  The patient, a French bulldog named Bully, had lost most of his appetite, according to his owner. Or at least he wasn’t eating as much as he used to. Turned out he had some pretty messed-up teeth. Jon had prescribed a teeth cleaning as soon as possible, which would require that Bully be anesthetized during the procedure—and the likelihood was that poor Bully would lose a few teeth. I felt bad for Bully but knew he’d be better off after he was treated.

  I also felt bad for myself, since I hadn’t found an opportunity to ask Jon any questions relating to Raela. Nor had I had a chance to talk to Reed before his interrogation. I felt the worst for Reed, although I couldn’t predict how the detectives would deal with him.

  I needed to know how things went, though. Somehow I’d find a way to get together with Reed later, quiz him about his interview, and be there to sympathize with him if the session was as grueling as I feared it would be.

  And so, as I headed for doggy daycare to retrieve Biscuit, I texted Reed. Told him he was coming to my house for dinner that night, he and Hugo. I didn’t give him a chance to say no—although of course I recognized he could.

  After that, leaning on the wall just outside the daycare center door, I called Neal. I was pleased but a bit surprised when he answered right away, since when he was on duty at the resort it was sometimes hard to reach him.

  “Don’t come home tonight till eight or later, okay?”

  “Hey, sis, you don’t usually kick me out. What’s going on?”

  I told him. He’d already heard rumors, at least, of the murder of the visiting vet who’d tried to become more than a visitor.

  “I wondered if you’d get involved with this one. And let me guess. Reed is somehow involved
.”

  “The cops might think he is. They’re talking with him right now, in fact. I’ve invited him over for dinner and want to hear everything they ask—and everything he knows.”

  “And you’ll fill me in on it later?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose there’s any use in my telling you not to get involved in figuring this one out, is there? Not with Reed a probable suspect.”

  “Unfortunately, you got it.”

  I heard some scrambling of canine feet near the doorway and figured someone was coming through, so I stepped back. Sure enough, Faye came into the hallway holding the leash of a pit bull mix I’d seen there before.

  “Hi, Carrie,” she said. “Are you coming for Biscuit?”

  I nodded, then said into the phone, “I’ll talk to you later, Neal. And I think Janelle has a shift at the shops this afternoon, so I’ll make sure she’s okay with hanging out with you tonight somewhere other than at our place.”

  “Her place is fine.” I heard the smile in my brother’s tone.

  “I’ll bet it is,” I replied, then hung up.

  As I walked into the daycare facility, Biscuit was in the middle of the room playing keep-away with a squeaky ball and a couple of other dogs around her size. She noticed me immediately, dropped the ball, and raced over.

  “You didn’t need to stop that quickly,” I told her, “but I’m glad you did.” I retrieved her leash from the shelves near the desk and let assistant Al know we were leaving.

  I half expected Reed to either text me back or call during the walk to my shops. After all, he’d probably already been with the detectives for half an hour, and for them to question everyone at the clinic, they had to keep the sessions fairly short.

  But I didn’t hear from him.

  Maybe he was mad at me. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to talk to anyone about what was going on.

  Surely they hadn’t arrested him … not this soon, at least.

  It was only early afternoon, and I was used to coming back to the shops fairly late after a shift at the clinic. That was because my shifts tended to start sometime after lunch.