We only talked about the new murder in town in generalities, though. The discussion then evolved into us telling Shea about the other recent cases and how odd it was that there were so many murders in such a small town. And, oh yes, I’d tended to snoop into them, not by design but from concern for the people involved.
Shea seemed amused but didn’t offer any legal advice. Just as well. I doubted it was against the law to do my own sort of investigation as long as I didn’t disrupt the real cops on the job or do anything to damage any evidence.
Eventually, the discussion ended. I wasn’t the one to stop it, though. Shea pulled out his cell phone, looked at it, and said, “Hey, guys. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hang out here this long but I certainly enjoyed our conversation. Time to get back to the office, though.”
“And we need to get back to the shops. But it sure was great seeing you,” I told the Nashes. “And I promise I’ll be back soon.”
“Anytime,” Joe said, and Irma nodded.
As I rose, so did Shea, as well as Dinah and Biscuit.
On our walk back to the shops, Dinah asked, “So, do you know what you’re going to do next?”
“Snoop,” I said. “But if you’re asking whether I actually have a plan in mind—well, that’s a work in progress.”
Fifteen
Over the next few hours, I didn’t have a lot of time to get that work in progress progressing. The shops were busy for a midday on Thursday, so it was a good thing that Dinah and I were back to ensure we had enough product and wait on customers in both shops.
But whenever my mind got a spare second to think, it was busy on the topic Dinah and I had discussed.
As a result, I had a plan for when Biscuit and I left for my shift at the clinic. I decided to drive there that day, since I intended to take a detour.
And so, at about half an hour before my three o’clock shift was to begin, I talked to each of my assistants individually and became fairly sure, despite the delightfully large crowds, that I could get away and still feel comfortable that both shops were adequately staffed.
I took Biscuit for a quick walk, hooked her into her backseat harness in the car, and drove alongside the town square to Hill Street. There, I made a right turn rather than the left I usually took toward the Knobcone Vet Clinic. I was instead heading for the Heights Veterinary Care Clinic—to learn if the building still remained, after such a short time, a veterinary hospital.
And if so, I wondered if Oliver would now take over as the veterinarian-in-charge. Of course, I’d heard he wanted to go back to San Diego before making a decision, but depending on the degree to which Raela had gotten the hospital designed, licensed, and funded—assuming she’d at least gotten the process started—maybe he now thought it made sense for him to step in and keep the new facility open.
If so, could that have been a motive for him to murder Raela?
But that seemed both obvious and extreme … right?
In any event, my mind had so far targeted Oliver as a prime suspect, so I really wanted to find and talk to him. And this seemed at least a possible place to start.
Traffic that day was slightly heavier than the usual stream of cars in Knobcone Heights, so it took me a little longer to pass the supermarket and reach the building that was now—maybe—the competing vet clinic.
I parked across the street and wasn’t at all surprised to see the property circled by ugly yellow crime scene tape. Maybe there was no access into the building even by Oliver, let alone me. Even so, I checked to make sure that Biscuit was comfy with the windows partially open in the coolish March air, then got out of the car and locked it. I carefully crossed the street and walked along the sidewalk.
A few other pedestrians had stopped to stare at the site, and I did the same thing. A bunch of people who looked like crime scene investigators were walking in and out of the building on the other side of the crime scene tape, but I didn’t see anyone who might have worked there the one day it had been open.
Nor did I see my detective buddies, or anyone else in suits or cop uniforms.
“Anyone know what they’re doing?” asked a gawker, a high school aged kid who had an eager expression on his fleshy face.
“Someone got killed there,” replied a blasé-looking guy who seemed only a few years older than the high school kid. “Don’t you watch TV enough to recognize a crime scene?”
What were either of them doing at the clinic instead of attending school? Not my business—even less so than the scene we were all somewhat glued to.
The boys now started attempting to outwit each other with their knowledge of fictional crime scenes they’d watched for fun, and I wanted to shut them both up. Instead, I just raised my eyebrows and observed without saying a thing.
I wondered, since I saw no indication that Oliver or anyone other than the crime scene crew was around, if my suspect was still in town—and, if so, whether he might be in custody already for the crime. But I wasn’t going to find that out standing around, if at all. At least not now.
It appeared unlikely that I would learn anything else there either. More important, it was time to head to my own part-time job before I arrived late. I’d at least get to see Reed and Jon, and I could ask whether either of them had heard from Oliver.
That would give me a good excuse, in fact, to take Jon aside and ask his opinion on what happened and who did it … while assessing the possibility that he was the guilty party.
And so I crossed the street once more and opened my driver’s side door, enjoying Biscuit’s enthusiastic greeting in the back. Then I drove down the street and found a parking lot to turn around in, since I had to head the other way.
We arrived at my clinic only a few minutes later and I parked in the back lot. Then I took Biscuit inside to doggy daycare.
Faye was, as usual, there and in charge. I signed my dear Biscuit in and handed Faye her leash. Then I inquired almost as a matter of course, “Anything new here that I should know about?” When I asked this usually, I meant had there been any new dogs left there to be cared for.
But Faye responded as if I’d asked about rumors and gossip related to the murder of the new vet in town. Her assistants were in the middle of the room playing with some dogs, but she whispered even so. “Things have been odd. Tense,” she hissed. “Some cops have even come in and asked questions here.” Her gesture encompassed the whole facility. “I’m hearing that a couple of the vets have been questioned a lot more since the other day. I just wish … ” Her voice trailed off.
“What?” I prompted softly.
“That Dr. Angela hadn’t decided to leave. Or even if she did, that Arvie hadn’t decided to hire a new vet. Or … ”
“Yes?” Was I going to have to keep encouraging her to talk? Clearly Faye felt uncomfortable with what she was saying, but she did say it after my prompting.
“Or that Reed hadn’t suggested some of his old friends interview for the job. Maybe if they hadn’t come here, Raela wouldn’t have either.”
“Amen to that,” I said, then realized I probably shouldn’t have said it aloud. Oh well. Faye and I were buddies. And I did, in fact, wish that things had remained as they were before at my wonderful clinic, rather than having this pall of suspicion hanging over at least a couple of the people who worked there.
Including one I particularly cared about.
“Anyway,” I continued quickly, “I’d better get to work. Biscuit’s in good company here as usual.” I bent to give her a hug, then left.
I stood in the hallway for a minute after I’d closed the door behind myself, breathing slowly and trying to let my thoughts loose. I had to go do the normal things like changing into my scrubs and signing in. Those came first.
The rest—well, I had lots of questions but would have to see how things worked out regarding who I could interrogate—er, talk to—next.
Jon was at the top of my wishful agenda. Maybe Reed, in case he had more information, particularly about where Oliver was
and how I could get in touch to chat with him.
Maybe even Arvie, to get his ideas and find out if he had heard anything from the cops or otherwise about the future, or lack thereof, of the other very new clinic in town.
And whether the cops were talking to him as a suspect for that very reason. Not that Arvie would hurt anyone, even a threatened competitor. But maybe the authorities, who didn’t know him as well as those who worked with him, wouldn’t be certain of that.
“Good. You’re here.” I heard a male voice behind me and turned to see the person I’d just been thinking about, Arvie, right behind me. “We’ve got an emergency case coming in, a dog. Auto accident. I’ve got Jon already primed to help out but we’ll probably need you, too, if the injuries are as bad as the owner described in her phone call.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll go get ready right away.”
I would have to wait to have the discussions I’d been pondering. Taking care of patients’ health always came first—and I could only hope now that we could ensure the poor, injured dog’s comfortable survival.
The dog’s jaw, ear, and front leg on the left side were hurt but not too badly, and after the examination and x-rays, Arvie, assisted by Jon, determined that there was nothing worse going on—fortunately. The six-year-old dog had been in the front seat when his owner had rear-ended another vehicle and the air bags had deployed, so things could have been a lot more severe.
The dog’s name was Remus and he was part German shepherd, part Great Dane, and who knew what else? If he’d been smaller, he might have been injured even worse. But he was going to be okay, though he would need time to heal. He was bruised and scraped and in pain, but fortunately no bones were broken.
I’d helped by holding him as best I could on the examination table, to ensure that Remus didn’t jump or fall off as the vets checked him over. He was clearly scared being in a vet’s office and definitely hurting, but he didn’t attack anyone—a really good dog.
I of course had to concentrate while we examined Remus, but my mind still managed to ponder how I could have a conversation with Jon afterward.
Eventually, I was sent out to the waiting room to summon Remus’s owner, a middle-aged man. He’d been the driver and was clearly also hurting, but he’d insisted on rushing Remus to the clinic rather than spending time in the hospital himself. He, too, was bruised, his face mottled.
“You can come in now, Mr. Harbin,” I told him, and he immediately stood up from the chair where he’d been sitting thumbing through a magazine and avoiding the curious and sympathetic looks from the pet owners around him.
A discussion ensued about treatment, which would include antibiotics and pain killers for a while, as well as how Remus should be walked in the short run, including limiting his exercise. Mr. Harbin was also told, for future reference, that harnessing dogs in the backseat of a car sometimes helped to avoid these kinds of injuries. He was told to bring Remus back in a week for a reevaluation. After the meds were provided, the hurt owner and dog were sent back to the entrance to pay and get on their way.
“A shame,” Jon said after Mr. Harbin left, his brown eyes seeming to reflect the poor dog’s pain.
“But he should be fine,” Arvie pointed out. “That’s the important thing. Thanks for your help, both of you.”
Which was a dismissal. Although we did have some other staff on call for cleanup duty in the exam room, I usually did it myself. Not this time, though. I followed Jon out the door.
“I’m so glad Remus is going to be okay,” I said as we reached the hallway. “I’ll bet, as a vet, you’ve seen car accident cases a whole lot worse than that.” Unfortunately I had, too, but I figured this might get our discussion going.
Jon turned and looked down at me, his expression sad. “That’s for sure. It’s one of the reasons I’m a lot fonder of pets than their owners. Sometimes dogs unexpectedly rush out onto the street in front of cars, sure, but more often than not the situation could have been prevented by the owners. Same goes for when they’re both inside cars and accidents occur.” He shook his head. “Sad.”
Arvie then exited the exam room we’d been in, and Sheldon, one of the janitorial folks, slipped inside. As a part-timer, I didn’t see Sheldon or his counterparts much, but I felt sure they were handy to have around. Arvie undoubtedly made sure they knew how to sanitize the locations as well as a vet tech could—or at least I hoped so.
“How long will you be around today, Carrie?” Arvie asked as he started to slip by us.
I glanced at my watch. I’d been there about an hour already. “About another hour and a half,” I told him.
“Good. Let’s hope the rest of our patients just need standard exams and such.” Arvie hurried down the hall in the direction of his office.
“I agree with that,” Jon said and began to follow.
I immediately caught up with him. “So, how have your first days as a vet here been?” I asked, searching for a way to get into what I really wanted to ask him.
Jon stopped again and looked at me. “Not exactly as I’d anticipated,” he said. “For one thing, I’d no idea that one of my former colleagues would follow and create such turmoil—and, on top of that, that she’d wind up dead.”
Yes! He’d gotten us onto the topic. “Oh, I know,” I said sympathetically. “Even if you weren’t close friends, the situation must be difficult. But—well, the fact that she’d opened a competing clinic … how did you feel about that?”
“Not good. I was concerned about the animals who’d become her patients. But maybe she’d change, here. And she did apparently hire Oliver, and he’s a really good vet. I’m glad I got this job, but he’s probably equally qualified.”
Okay, should I ask Jon if he’d had a reason to murder Raela, or should I stay on the subject of Oliver? I decided the latter would work best for the moment, and maybe I could slip in the former.
But the reception area door opened and Yolanda came into the hallway, holding a cat crate and followed by a woman who was probably that patient’s owner.
Darn. An interruption. And it became more of one when Yolanda said, “Exam room three, Doctor?”
“Fine,” Jon said and started following them.
I managed to remain with him, though I figured if a tech was needed it would undoubtedly be Yolanda.
And while it was yes to the first, it was no to the second. Yolanda said she had to get back to the front desk, so I remained with Jon for the exam.
The cat hadn’t been eating and had diarrhea, so Jon had to ask questions and get me to run blood tests and more, including getting a stool sample to check—not the most fun thing about being a vet tech, but I was used to it.
It turned out that what I found was at least part of the problem: hookworms. Yuck. But the clinic had plenty of the kind of medication that would get rid of them.
And soon this kitty and her mom left, and I was once again alone with Jon.
“I was wondering,” I said. “Have you heard from Oliver? Does he intend to try to keep the new clinic running now that its founder won’t be around?”
“I don’t know. We’re having dinner tonight and I think that’ll be a topic.”
“Really?” Should I invite myself? If so, alone or with Reed? I decided on the latter, even though I wasn’t sure what Reed’s opinion would be. But he’d been friends with both these guys. And if I was able to start a conversation about who they all thought might have done away with their former coworker … well, I might wind up concluding that it couldn’t have been any of them—or focusing on one of them as my main suspect.
“You know, I’m planning on eating with Reed tonight at the Knobcone Resort,” I continued. “Would the two of you be able to join us there?”
Surprise seemed to register on Jon’s face, then pensiveness. “Why not?” he said after a long moment. “I’ll check with Oliver, and unless he objects, let’s do it.”
“Great. I’ll check with Reed—and same thing on my end.”
But one way or another, with Reed or not, I was already planning on that dinner.
I nearly immediately was given another assignment, this time with Arvie. But after he’d given the next patient a clean bill of health during an annual exam, my next assignment was with Reed.
It was another annual exam, this time for a cat. And when all was once more pronounced well and the kitty and owner departed, I got a moment alone with Reed in the examination room.
“We’re having dinner together at the resort,” I informed him.
The look he leveled on me was both longing and heated. “I’d rather you and Biscuit just come to my place.”
“We’ll do that again soon,” I said, “but tonight is another step toward fulfilling the extracurricular assignment you’ve given me.”
He looked puzzled—until I told him who we were eating with.
“Thanks,” he said. “But—”
“Be careful,” I said in unison with him.
Sixteen
I spent a while at the shops after my shift at the clinic was over and Biscuit and I had returned to them. I was glad my assistants could stay until closing time. They did the bulk of the work, and I treasured them.
I did wait on a few customers, though—particularly some who visited often. I wanted to make sure their experience today was as wonderful as always, despite the distractions that I was trying to keep in a corner of my mind.
One of those customers was Sissy, probably the town’s most loyal aficionado of our red velvet cupcakes—the recipe I’d bought along with Icing from my good friend Brenda Anesco. Brenda also had given me her slogan, “Make them sweet and make them good.” I kept it in mind for everything I baked and sold in Icing—though only the “good” part fit the Barkery.
Another of our long-time Icing lovers, Cecilia Young, whom we referred to as Cece, came in that afternoon, and I was glad to see her.
Then there were Barkery fans, both dogs and their owners, who also showed up frequently. I for the most part let Janelle wait on them that day, particularly since her real career was as a professional photographer and she often made arrangements with customers to take photos of their dogs—and people, too. She’d told me she was hoping to take a few days off soon and concentrate on using her camera, so finding subjects to photograph was one of her current goals. And it never hurt for her to mention this in the Barkery.
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