by Meg Benjamin
He showered off the sweat he’d raised in his run, pulled on his jeans and a denim shirt, and headed for his truck just as a Konigsburg police cruiser pulled up at the end of the drive.
Cal groaned inwardly. Ham Linklatter was at the wheel.
“Morning, Doc,” Ham drawled. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses, and his buff-colored cowboy hat covered most of his lank, pale hair. The toothpick he was chewing sort of completed the look. “Heard you had dinner with Margaret Hastings last night. That a fact?”
Cal narrowed his eyes. “Gee, Ham, why would my dinner plans be a police concern?”
“Didn’t say they were.” Ham took out his toothpick and pointed it in Cal’s direction. “I’m just asking.”
“For yourself?” Cal raised an eyebrow. Was it possible that a woman was actually willing to be seen with Ham? In public? “I didn’t know you had any interest in Margaret Hastings.”
Ham put the toothpick back in his mouth, staring reflectively into the distance. “Margaret and I have had our moments.”
Cal folded his arms on his chest. Wonder was going to love this. “Moments? No kidding.”
“So what about you and Margaret?” Ham chewed on his toothpick again and looked up at Cal, his mouth thinning.
“It was a moment.” Cal paused. “More like a millisecond.”
Ham frowned, pulling the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at Cal again. “You better be careful, Doc. Around here people don’t take kindly to men poaching on other men’s territory.”
Cal stared at him. He was at least eight inches taller than Ham and probably outweighed him by fifty pounds or so. Of course, Ham did have a gun. He might even know how to aim it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You do that.” Ham turned on the ignition and pulled away in a cloud of dust.
Cal stood shaking his head, watching the dust fade. If a day started out this weird, could it get any weirder?
Of course it could. Cal arrived at the clinic to find Margaret Hastings herself talking to the receptionist. Señor Pepe directed a desperate glance his way. Cal did his best to ignore him.
“Good morning, Doctor.” Margaret gave him one of those creepy smiles. “I wanted to see about getting Señor Pepe’s teeth cleaned.”
Señor Pepe trembled slightly, blinking fast. Cal took a deep breath, willing himself not to look into the dog’s eyes. “Bethany can set you up with Dr. Rankin. He’s really the dental expert around here.” Forgive me, Horace.
“Oh,” Margaret’s lips formed a slight pout. “I really wanted you to do it, Doctor. Señor Pepe trusts you now. Goodness, the two of you are old friends, after all.”
Señor Pepe gave him a beseeching look. Help me, help me, help me.
Cal managed to keep his smile in place. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll like Doc Rankin. Dogs love him.”
Bethany rolled her eyes, but Margaret was looking toward the front door.
Her shoulders stiffened suddenly, then her lips spread wide in a brilliant smile, showing gleaming teeth. Cal suddenly realized he’d never seen Margaret’s teeth before. They were small and sharp, rather like a ferret’s. He turned toward the door to see what was up.
Docia Kent had just stepped into the room. She wore a kind of gauzy white shirt that extended to mid-thigh above her jeans. The cuffs fell away from her wrists, emphasizing her strong, slender fingers.
Cal experienced the whole blood-draining-to-groin thing again. Apparently, she was going to have that effect on him frequently.
“Docia!” Margaret smiled ferociously. “How nice to see you again. Where’s your sweet little cat?”
“Hi Margaret.” Docia raised an eyebrow. “Actually Nico’s here at the clinic. I was hoping I could take a peek at him.” She turned to Cal. “Is that okay?”
Cal kicked his brain out of neutral. “Sure. I’ll take you back there. I’d like to get a look at him myself.” He put a hand on Docia’s elbow, ignoring the mild wave of heat that emanated from her body. Behind him, he heard Margaret suck in a short, indignant breath.
“Bethany, would you help Ms. Hastings?” He sent a smile somewhere in Margaret’s general direction. “She wants to get her dog’s teeth cleaned.”
The recovery area was fairly empty for once. Rufus, the ancient collie with the kidney problems, snored in a corner pen.
Docia half turned her head to look at him. “You keep the cats and dogs separated?”
“We try to,” Cal said. “Not too many cats in here as a rule.” He stepped into the next room. In his pen at the side, Nico raised his head enough to hiss.
Cal grinned. “Go for it, bucko, you’ve earned the right to snarl at anybody you want to.”
Docia dropped to her knees beside the pen. Nico stretched his nose toward her, then batted at her fingers through the mesh of the pen. “Oh, Nico,” she murmured. “Good boy. You made it.”
She looked up at Cal with amazing eyes. Deep green with some kind of flecks in the iris. Maybe he could tell what color they were if he got a little closer.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
Get up close and personal so I can check the color of your eye flecks. Cal took a deep, steadying breath. “Do now?”
“With Nico.” She bit her lower lip—her very full, rosy lower lip. “What comes next for him?”
Cal sighed. “I wish we could get him to eat. We took out the intravenous line, but he hasn’t touched his food.”
“He hates it here.” Docia grinned. “No offense. He’s the world’s worst animal patient. Dr. Rankin won’t even touch him unless somebody’s holding him down.”
Cal rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Maybe you should take him home, then. He needs to have some recovery time, but he needs to eat and drink too.”
Docia straightened quickly, her eyes alight. “Can I really? Take him home, that is. I’d love to.”
“Sure.” Cal walked back toward the door. “I’ll tell Bethany to get him ready. Do you have the carrier?”
Docia nodded. “In my car. I left it there after I dropped him off.”
“Okay.” Cal made a sudden decision. “You take him home with you, and I’ll stop by later to check on him.”
“That’s very nice of you.” Docia raised a cinnamon-colored eyebrow, and he had the uncomfortable feeling she saw right through him. “A vet who makes house calls. Quite a service.”
Cal felt absurdly like blushing. “Hey, like I say, he’s earned it.”
—
Docia maneuvered Nico’s carrier behind the front counter in the bookstore. “I’m going to leave him back here,” she told Janie. “Where I can keep an eye on him.”
“He’s home? Already?” Janie knelt beside the carrier as Docia opened the mesh door. “Hi, guy, got any lives left or did you take care of them all this time?”
Nico made a guttural sound and flopped his front paws outside the door. Janie stood, dusting off her knees. “That cat’s a walking miracle, you know. He shouldn’t be alive.”
“Believe me, I know.” Docia tucked a towel into the carrier at Nico’s side, then placed his food and water bowls within reach. “At least he got to come back home sooner than they thought he would last night.”
“Where did it happen, anyway?” Janie frowned. “He didn’t actually get shot in the apartment, did he?”
“No, there was a trail of blood from the window to the bathroom.” Docia chewed on her lower lip, thinking. “You know, I don’t even know where it happened exactly. Couldn’t have been too far away, though. He was too seriously hurt to have gone far.”
“Follow the blood.” Janie shrugged. “He must have gotten shot before he climbed in the window, so the blood drops should go outside too.”
Docia pushed herself up from the counter. “Janie, you’re a genius. Can you hold off on leaving for lunch for a few minutes?”
“Sure. I’ll stay here and talk to Nico.”
Nico’s usual route to the apartment window was up the rickety fire es
cape that stretched against the back wall. Docia stood at the foot of it, looking up. A series of dried blood drops trailed erratically up the green metal steps.
She turned, following the faint splatters along the cracked cement walk that ran behind the shop. About three feet from the bottom step of the fire escape she saw a larger splatter. The remains of a blood pool.
Docia’s stomach contracted. “God, Nico,” she murmured. “In your own backyard? Why?”
She leaned back against the fire escape railing, staring down at the blood pool. The midday sun burned on her shoulders. Somewhere in the next block a child was crying.
And something glinted in the grass.
Docia knelt on the concrete, stretching a hand to push the grass aside. Pieces of glass. She raised her gaze again. The window to the storeroom had a hole in the corner, cracks extending out to the edge.
The door to the shop banged open and Docia jumped. “Ms. Kent?” A deep, rumbling voice said politely.
Kevin Brody, the chief of police, wore his uniform better than any of his subordinates, but Docia figured he’d been at it longer than they had. And it would take more than a uniform to make Ham Linklatter or Clete Morris look good. Brody’s khaki shirt stretched across his beefy shoulders as if it had been custom made. The creases in his uniform pants were knife sharp. Even the buff cowboy hat looked better on Brody than it did on Ham or Clete.
“Chief,” Docia said. “Can I help you?”
“You called the station,” Brody said. “I came to check out the complaint.” His gray eyes gave Docia a brief up-and-down inspection without a great deal of interest.
“Oh.” Docia suddenly felt small and insignificant, something that rarely happened to her. “Well. I just wanted to tell someone about my cat. That he was shot. I didn’t really expect… I thought Ham or Clete would come.”
“Both on assignment.” Brody pulled out a notebook. “Cat was shot. Dead?”
Docia shivered. “No. He survived.”
Brody raised an eyebrow. “Hell of a cat.”
“He is.” Docia nodded. “The vet said he was probably shot with a twenty-two.”
“Did you see it happen?”
“No. It was while I was out having dinner.”
Brody frowned. “You know where the cat was when it was shot?”
“Right here…I think.” Docia nodded toward the dried blood pool. She’d have to get out here later and scrub the cement. No way she wanted to see that reminder every time she walked out the back door.
Brody walked over to the stain. “Might be. You’re sure this wasn’t here before?”
“I’m sure.” Docia pointed to the window. “That wasn’t here before either.”
Brody squinted in the bright afternoon sun. Docia noticed for the first time that he wasn’t wearing the same mirrored sunglasses his officers preferred. Maybe he didn’t need any extra authority symbols.
“You’re saying that window was shot out?”
“I don’t know.” Docia grimaced. “Maybe. Or maybe somebody was trying to break in and Nico surprised them.”
“More likely a wild shot.” Brody peered at the window. “Anybody get in through here? Anything missing?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. I’ll check this afternoon.”
“So.” Brody exhaled a quick breath, glancing at his notebook. “Somebody doing a little target practice in your backyard.” He glanced at the stone wall separating the yard from the alley. “Does that gate lock?”
“Yes, but I may not have locked it again yesterday after I took the garbage out to the alley.” Docia frowned. “Why would somebody do something like that?”
Brody shrugged. “Kids, probably. My guess is they got a twenty-two from somewhere, maybe somebody’s dad, then took it out to do a little shooting.”
Docia folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself. Weird to feel cold when the temperature was at least ninety. “Why my cat?”
“With kids, who knows? Could have been anything. Maybe they thought it was a squirrel.” He folded the notebook and slid it back into his pocket. “Or maybe they just wanted to shoot something.”
“Terrific.” Docia bit her lip again. “Poor Nico. Wrong place, wrong time.”
Brody nodded. “I’ll ask around. Kids might brag about it. I’ll see if anybody’s heard anything.”
“And you’ll let me know?”
“If I find anything.” He sighed. “Can’t have people shooting house pets. Bad for the town’s image.”
Docia’s eyebrows went up until she saw his smile. Who would have thought the chief had a sense of humor? “Thank you, Chief. I appreciate it.”
“Take care, Ms. Kent,” he rumbled. “Go look after your cat.”
Chapter Five
Cal decided to delay checking on Nico until the end of the day. If he got lucky, maybe he could take Docia for a drink at the Dew Drop.
Or not. He didn’t feel entirely confident about asking her out yet. She had a way of looking through him that made him slightly nervous. His former girlfriends had mostly been in the good-times category. No strings. No commitments. Nothing heavy. He had a feeling Docia Kent wouldn’t fit into that category herself. Maybe Wonder was right about her being out of his league.
Horace Rankin, the senior partner in the clinic, had a few choice things to say during lunch about having had to clean Señor Pepe’s teeth. “Margaret Hastings makes my fillings ache,” he grumbled. “And her goddamn dog looks like a wharf rat. From now on he’s your problem.”
Cal sighed, jabbing his fork into his microwaved dinner. “He’s the most miserable dog I ever saw, Horace. Swear to God. He makes me feel guilty every time I look at him.”
“Get over it.” Horace took a large bite of his braunschweiger sandwich. Cal always expected him to consume part of his drooping gray moustache along with his lunch, but somehow Horace managed to avoid it. “We don’t analyze ’em, we just fix ’em. You get a chance to look at those blueprints for the expansion?”
“You mean the new parking lot?” Cal tried squirting a little hot sauce onto his beans—maybe it would make them taste less like polystyrene. “Yeah. Looks okay to me. We’d have to buy the lot next door, though. Does Hobie think we can afford it?” Hobie was Horace’s business manager, the most cautious man Cal had ever met.
“Hell, son, what with the business I was already doing before you got here, plus all the new patients you’re bringing in, this expansion should pay for itself in no time.” Horace chortled.
Cal managed to grin back. Buying into Horace’s hospital had taken every cent he’d managed to save plus a sizeable loan from his parents—more debt on top of the college loans he was still paying off, the biggest financial gamble he’d ever taken. Still, so far it was paying off better than his job in Kansas City where he’d had to work extra shifts at the animal emergency clinic on the weekends. His brother Lars, the ninja accountant, had assured him he was making the right decision.
“Nice job on that cat of Docia Kent’s, by the way, imp of Satan though he is. Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen the x-rays.” Horace took a swallow of Big Red, which momentarily turned his moustache slightly pink.
“That happen around here a lot?” Cal picked up his glass of iced tea, frowning. “Pets getting shot?”
Horace shook his head. “Every once in a while some fool shoots a cow when he thinks it’s a whitetail, but I can’t remember another pet getting shot lately.”
Cal stared down at his rice and beans, remembering Docia Kent’s tear-filled eyes. Who would shoot my cat? “Any ideas about who might take a potshot at a cat?”
Horace burped braunschweiger. “This town has its share of morons, Toleffson, like any other place. And some of them are armed. Not a comforting thought during hunting season, I assure you. Why’d you send that cat home, anyway? Seems too soon to me.”
“He wasn’t eating. I figured she could look after him. I’ll check on him after we finish up here today.” Cal shrugged, avo
iding Horace’s eyes.
Horace’s bushy eyebrows rose. Then his mouth spread in a wide grin, his moustache bristling with whole-wheat crumbs. “You going after Docia Kent, boy?”
“Maybe.” Cal walked across the room to tip the rest of the rice and beans into the trash. Frozen vegetarian entrees sucked. “And you don’t have to tell me she’s not into locals. I got that already.”
“Aw the hell with that,” Horace crowed. “Go for it, son! People around here are still trying to figure Docia Kent out. No man in Konigsburg has had the balls before this—they’ve all been sniffing around that gorgeous woman for a year or two now. I was about ready to make a play for her myself, just to keep it interesting. ’Course it may be bad for business around here.”
Cal frowned. “Why would my dating Docia Kent have anything to do with our veterinary business?”
“Oh c’mon, son.” Horace aimed his balled-up waxed paper at the corner wastebasket. He got it in one. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how many Konigsburg females have suddenly discovered poochie needs his nails polished.”
“So help me, Horace, I have never polished any dog’s nails.”
“Or cleaned a Chihuahua’s teeth. Doesn’t stop ’em coming in, does it?” Horace shook his head. “Go grab Docia Kent, son. Maybe it’ll send Margaret Hastings to that new vet over in Johnson City.”
Cal grinned. Lunch with Horace was always educational. Just another reason Cal had taken him up on his partnership offer three months ago.
—
Janie usually left at five, but today she stayed until five-fifteen to help with a last-minute clump of customers from a Harlingen tour bus. As she slung her backpack onto her shoulder and headed for the door, she wrinkled her nose at Docia. “Do you really think having a cat box behind the counter is a good marketing tool?”
Docia grimaced. “You think it’s a little ripe?”
“A little. Maybe you could move Nico back upstairs. He seems to be doing okay.”
Docia turned to look at Nico, half sprawled from the door of his carrier. Except for his swollen face and drooping lower lip, he looked almost normal. “Maybe.”
