“Maybe both,” Kari said. “Marge told me that he used to take it out and gloat over it. I think he liked the feeling of power even more than he liked the money.” She flipped through the book until she got to the date when Steve Clark’s dog had been surrendered. “Aha!” she said. “Look.” She pointed at a line written in red pen near the bottom of the page.
SOLD: Purebred Irish wolfhound. $2,000. ($20 to Foreman Clive for transport.)
“That’s got to be Steve Clark’s dog. It’s still alive. But there’s no record of where it ended up.” Her shoulders sagged. She’d really been hoping that they’d be able to return the brokenhearted professor’s beloved pet to him.
“Ah, but now I know something you don’t know,” Richardson said with a small smile. “Foreman Clive is a local petty crook. He’s been in and out of jail for years, mostly for small stuff. If Myers was using him to take stolen dogs to their new owners, I shouldn’t have any trouble getting the information out of him.
“With any luck, we’ll be able to find all the dogs Myers stole and get them back to their proper owners. I expect that the folks who paid good money for these pooches aren’t going to be too happy about that, but my guess is that most of them knew there was something shady about the transactions in the first place.”
“Oh, that’s great,” Kari said. “I love a happy ending.” She bit her lip. “Now I just need one for Buster.”
She flipped through the book some more, and it took her a minute to find what she was looking for. But she finally let out a loud whoop and pointed her finger at the page in front of her. Right there in black and white, it said:
Serenity Sanctuary. Goose Hollow Road. “Buster” (pit bull), released from fenced area. Loose dog/third offense. Dangerous dog. Filed report of bite wound. Court date pending. $200 fine. ($25 to Mitch Todd for pictures of bite wounds from own dog last year.)
And next to that, in pencil, This should make that woman sell!
Kari wiped away a tear surreptitiously and gave a little sniff. “This should clear Buster completely, shouldn’t it?”
“Absolutely,” the sheriff said. “In fact, I’m going to hand this entire book over to the judge. I’m guessing she is going to have to review a number of cases and refund a ton of fines. The town isn’t going to be too happy about that, but maybe we can find some way to get the money out of Myers’s estate, when all is said and done. And any dog owner who has a pending court case will almost certainly have it dismissed.”
Kari heaved a sigh of relief, feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “You might want to make a copy for the new dog warden too. He seems like a decent guy. I expect he’ll want to know which animals are innocent of the charges he has records for.”
“Good point,” Richardson said. He nodded at Kari. “So I guess you achieved what you set out to do after all. You not only cleared the sanctuary’s dog but a bunch of other ones, and hopefully made it possible for us to reunite some folks with dogs they thought they’d lost forever. What are you planning to do for an encore?”
She gave him a big grin. “Open a shelter, of course.”
Twenty-Three
The official open house for the sanctuary was a big success. Although they’d actually been open for business for a week, the party was both a celebration of the shelter and a good-bye party for Daisy, who would be leaving for her sister’s place the next day. She had formally adopted Buster as soon as his name was cleared, and was planning to take him with her. Kari wasn’t sure which one of them was happier. The pit bull currently sat at Daisy’s feet, panting happily as he gnawed on a fancy chew toy that was his going-away present from the staff.
“The place looks great,” Mickey said. “You’ve done a great job here, sis.” He slung one arm companionably over Kari’s shoulder. As usual, Queenie was perched in her spot on the other side, benignly surveying her territory as if the party had been her idea.
“Thanks, Mickey,” Kari said, returning the hug. He’d actually been a big help during the last couple of weeks, pitching in to get things done around her house while she’d been working on the shelter. The farmhouse was still a work in progress, but at least the roof no longer leaked and the walls had been repainted. There were even a few new shelves so she could unpack her many boxes of books. She was surprised to discover she was going to miss him when he left. He was quite handy, and very good company most of the time.
“You could stick around, you know,” she said. “I’m sure I could find something for you to do.” As long as he stayed sober.
Mickey laughed. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said. “Besides, I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”
Kari followed his gaze across the room to where an unusually cheerful Bryn was chatting with Suz, whose hair was even more lavender than usual, with bright blue tips. “Always leave ’em wanting more,” she said diplomatically. The poor guy had finally figured out that Bryn was a lost cause, thank goodness. Kari had been beginning to think she was going to have to whack him across the nose with a rolled-up newspaper until he got the point.
She waved at Suz, who had been coming in once a week to give the sanctuary dogs free haircuts so they would look more appealing to prospective adopters. Suz gave her a thumbs-up and a big grin, then went back to her conversation. The dog groomer had dressed up for the occasion in new jeans and a draped purple top that matched her hair. Funky amethyst earrings set off the ensemble and made Kari feel almost underdressed in her khaki pants, fitted black tee with Serenity Sanctuary on it, and simple silver hoops. So at least one thing was the same as usual.
Kari let her eyes take in the entire space, scanning around the room to make sure everything was going smoothly. Everyone there seemed to be having a good time. Georgia Travis was in one corner with Steve Clark, who had practically been incandescent with joy to be reunited with Ranger. Even the mayor, a short broad woman with a surprising amount of charisma, had come out, given a brief speech, and then stayed to get better acquainted with a pretty calico cat they’d taken in the week before.
A huge cake, donated by the local bakery, took up most of the front desk area, although there was also a sign-up sheet for volunteers and a jar—almost overflowing, Kari was happy to see—for donations. Tripod sat next to the jar, as if surveying his territory and encouraging everyone to contribute. He had a new bed underneath the desk that was reserved just for him, and he was hardly drooling at all, now that they’d had some work done on his few remaining teeth.
Pictures of all the adoptable cats and dogs took up the wall behind one side of the desk, with brief descriptions of their age, breed, and personality. A few red stickers indicated pending adoptions, and as she watched, Sara added another one to the picture of Sacha, a five-year-old Schnauzer mix with abundant eyebrows and a slight overbite.
Kari gazed with pride at the new cat cages that lined two of the other walls. They’d had to move a couple of the more skittish cats into the isolation section of the large feline room for the duration of the party, but the rest of the animals seemed to be doing fine with all the extra attention. All the cages had a raised sleeping area with a cozy bed or blanket on it, as well as a lower section for play, eating, and a litter box.
The two biggest cages on the bottom row each contained a mama cat and a litter of kittens, and Kari was pleased to see that a couple of the kittens already had red adoption pending dots next to their names too, although the new owners would have to wait until the kittens were ten weeks old before they could be taken home.
“I can’t get over the change,” Daisy said, coming up to stand next to Kari. “It’s like a miracle. I keep wanting to pinch myself.”
“Watch out for Kari’s brother,” Sara said with a laugh, joining them. “He’ll do it for you.” She smiled at Kari. “Daisy’s right, though. It really is a miracle.”
“A miracle of hard work, good luck, and a lot of g
reat people working together,” Kari said. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay, Daisy? We’d be happy to have you.” Kari still felt a little nervous about being the sole person in charge, although she’d had to call on the former owner less and less over the last two weeks.
“Thanks but no thanks,” Daisy said, shaking her head. “It’s your turn now. I’m incredibly grateful to be leaving the place in such good hands. Between you, Sara, Bryn, and everyone else, I know the sanctuary is going to be a big success.”
“Don’t forget about me,” Angus McCoy said, strolling over with a glass of wine in his hand and a tiny tiger kitten snuggled in the crook of one arm. “Never underestimate the benefits of an on-call vet.” He winked at Kari, who blushed as he walked off to talk to someone who was interested in one of the dogs. Some of the volunteers had been taking turns walking the resident canines in the new fenced area out back, so visitors could see them and say hello.
“What was that all about?” Suz asked, suddenly appearing by Kari’s side.
“Nothing,” Kari said. “He’s just being nice.”
“Uh-huh,” Suz said knowingly. She grinned at Kari. “Can you believe all this came about because you bought a lottery ticket on a whim while you were picking up cat litter?”
“I really can’t,” Kari said, looking around at her new mission and her new friends. Yes, the whole thing came with a lot of responsibility, and a certain amount of stress, but as long as there were no more dead bodies, she thought she could handle it. “So, do you still think I’m crazy for buying this place?”
Suz laughed. “Yes,” she said. “But definitely a good kind of crazy. In fact, I’d say, the very best kind.”
Queenie started purring loudly, as if she agreed.
Acknowledgments
The only thing tougher than writing your first book is writing your twenty-fifth book and having it be the first book in an entirely new-to-you genre. This book owes its existence to my fabulous agent, Elaine Spencer, who suggested I might have the perfect voice for cozy mysteries, ignored me when I said she was nuts, helped me figure out which kind I should write, and then found the perfect home for the books. Thanks too to Jenn (with two Ns), my wonderful editor, who fell in love with the animals in this series and helped me to make them shine. Someday we’ll find you your own three-legged cat. Everyone at Berkley who worked to make this book even better than I expected, from the cover artist to the copy editor. Massive thanks to author Donna Andrews, who not only writes some of my favorite mysteries, but was kind enough to take the time to give me lots of pointers on how to write one, and then read the early manuscript and gave me some more. All my beta readers helped to make this book better, with special thanks to Karen Buys (we’ll make it to Bouchercon yet) and Judy Levine, who both read everything I send their way, and take the time to comment. I only hope that the finished product is worthy of all the efforts of those who contributed to bringing it to fruition. Big love to all my cats, who inspire me to write by insisting on eating every day. And to Magic the cat, gone now, but reincarnated as a little black kitten between these pages. Love you, baby.
About the Author
Deborah Blake is the author of multiple romance series, including the Baba Yaga series, as well as over a dozen nonfiction titles. When not writing, Deborah runs The Artisans' Guild, a cooperative shop she founded with a friend in 1999, and also works as a jewelry maker, tarot reader, and energy healer. She lives in a 130-year-old farmhouse in rural upstate New York with numerous cats who supervise all her activities, both magical and mundane.
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