Last But Not Leashed, page 22
“Any family left?”
“No. Posey was an only child, and I never recall her mentioning any relatives. She had a high school girlfriend here in town…”
“Linda,” I said.
“That’s right. Linda.” Daffy absentmindedly played with a loose thread on her sweater.
“How do you know so much about Posey?” I asked. I doubted Daffy spent that much time gossiping in Circle K.
“Didn’t you know?” Posey asked. “Posey cleaned houses on the side. She came here once every two weeks for the last five years to help with the heavy cleaning—floors, windows, the kitchen, and bathrooms. That’s also how she knew Sookie.”
Suddenly acutely alert, I questioned, “What do you mean?”
“When Sookie needed extra help with her organizing jobs, she’d hire Posey.”
I stared at Mari. Another confirmation of a link between the two dead women. “Daffy, were you surprised when Posey committed suicide on New Year’s Eve?”
“Surprised? I’m flabbergasted. It’s obvious to me that Posey was murdered.”
I took our client’s murder pronouncement with a heaping spoonful of salt, since everyone knew Daffy loved drama. Although we were pressed for time, I continued to talk to her about Posey until Mari started giving me signals to cut it short.
I stood up, then realized I hadn’t looked at the skin thing on Little Man. At the last two nail clippings, the tiny Chihuahua had worn doggy clothes.
“Where is his sore?” I asked my client.
“On the side of his belly, sort of,” she answered, slipping off the sweater so I could get a look.
My heart sank. A red circular lesion, slightly elevated and ulcerated. I didn’t like what I saw.
“He’s been scratching it with his back leg,” Daffy added. “That’s why it looks so bad. I can’t get him to stop.”
When a veterinarian sees a skin tumor, a number of possibilities immediately jump to mind from previous experience. However, it’s impossible to tell for certain what you are dealing with unless the growth is biopsied—which is exactly what I told Daffy.
“But I’m flying down to Florida the day after tomorrow. I even booked my Little Man a place in the cabin with me.” Her worried face betrayed her fear.
Taking a trip right now presented a terrible dilemma. If this was a mast cell tumor or squamous cell carcinoma, the faster we removed it, the better his prognosis.
As if to comment, the Chihuahua began to growl, then scratched his side. A drop of blood appeared on margin of the lesion. A quick shake scattered the drop into droplets that transformed my white coat into a Jackson Pollock painting.
“Oh. Is that…blood?” Daffy started to turn pale. Mari grabbed her arm, and I helped her to a nearby chair. Little Man, still clutched in her arms, squirmed and barked, while another drop of blood rolled down his belly.
“Close your eyes and take some deep breaths,” Mari said. “Everything is fine.”
“Can you give Little Man to me?” I asked Daffy.
She handed the Chihuahua to me, holding him under his front legs. The eight-pound dog’s brown eyes bugged out. He seemed completely confused and surprised his mommy had given him to me. The enemy. I tucked him under my arm, positioning him over the drip design on my coat, careful to give him no target to bite.
Mari handed Daffy a glass of water and a hard candy. The color began returning to her face. “Chew the candy and take a sip of water,” my assistant instructed.
We watched her do just that. “Okay, I’m feeling much better,” she said. “I’m so sorry. The sight of blood sometimes…” She drank a little more water. “Dr. Kate, what would you do if he were your dog?”
That was an easy question. “Honestly, Daffy? First I’d do some preliminary tests; then I’d take that thing off as soon as possible. The pathologists will let us know if we’re dealing with a malignancy and will formulate a treatment plan.”
“I don’t know…”
“Frankly, I’m worried that Little Man will cause it to bleed again, and you’ll faint and hit your head on the floor.”
“And I’m all alone here.”
Mari and I looked at each other. “You might end up in the hospital.”
Or worse, I thought.
“We could take him with us now,” Mari suggested. “Dr. Kate, how long before the pathology report will be back?”
“Biopsy results can take from two to five days.”
“Can you keep him a few days with you after surgery?” Daffy said. “I’d be too nervous he’d tear a stitch out. And I’m not sure if I can give him pills.”
All of this was leading up to Little Man staying at the hospital five or more days.
“How long will you be gone?” Mari asked.
“A week. I’m spending a week by the ocean with three of my girlfriends. I’m meeting Paula in New Jersey; then we fly out together from Newark. I was so looking forward to it.” Her eyes drifted back to her beloved pet, still tucked under my arm.
“In seven days when you get back, Little Man will be well along with his healing, plus we’d have our diagnosis and treatment plan in place.”
Mari joined in. “Dr. Kate and I will take good care of him, Daffy.”
“Oh, I know that.” Her voice trembled slightly. “Well, I want to do what’s best for him.”
“So…?”
“Can you take him with you now? It’s better, I think. Before I change my mind.” Her words said one thing, but her eyes said something else.
My assistant slipped her coat on and picked up Little Man’s sweater.
“Mari and I will send you a picture or a video every day, if that will help.” Daffy had been one of my first clients, and I knew her Chihuahua meant the world to her. Pretty sure we needed to leave before the tears started to fall, I signaled to Mari.
We began to back up toward the front door, Mari grabbing my coat and bag. “I’ll send you a consent for surgery and an estimate by email. Can you print it up, sign it, and send it back ASAP?”
“Yes.” Daffy was following us, petting Little Man and murmuring assurances to him as we inched along the corridor.
“Be good,” she admonished the Chihuahua, after a final kiss on the top of his hairless head. Astonished he was leaving his home, Little Man said nothing.
I lifted his front paw and we waved goodbye.
Safely in the truck, Mari took out the large hospital cat carrier. I gently slid Little Man inside. To my amazement, he didn’t protest at all. He most likely was in a state of shock.
“I’m not sure if he had his dinner,” Mari said, “but just in case I poured some of his dog food in a ziplock bag.”
“Good thinking,” I told her. “How are we doing on time?”
“A little bit behind. We should be okay.” She opened her computer and began to scroll down. In the back seat, Little Man was uncharacteristically silent.
Probably plotting his revenge.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It took about twenty minutes for us to get to our final appointment, rechecking Chloe Ramboulle’s French bulldog. Just like before, we stopped at the closed gate, buzzed the main house, and announced who we were. This time, I noticed one of the cameras mounted on the empty guardhouse swivel toward us.
The metal gates swung open, and I downshifted in anticipation of climbing the hill. It didn’t look like the road had been plowed since we’d been there last. A back tire slipped a bit just as we reached the crest.
“We should have taken my SUV,” Mari said.
“Yep,” I agreed. Mari’s vehicle had huge snow tires on it and was a lot newer that the old F-150.
“Do you have chains?”
A vision of snow chains piled in the corner of my office materialized. I had meant to put them in the truck this morning. “We should be all right. The snow hasn’t started yet.” Ominous clouds darkened the sky off to our left. “Let’s make it quick.”
When we arrived, Chloe waited in the doorway, holding her Frenchie in her arms. One of the men in black stood at attention to her right. The puppy started yipping and squirming with excitement. From the back seat, Little Man answered the yips by barking too.
“What are we going to do with him?” Mari asked. “Can’t leave him in the truck.”
I swiveled in my seat to see Little Man had shoved his snout through the bars of the carrier door. A growl indicated he felt like his old self.
“Guess he’s joining us.”
Chloe and Aldo stared at the cat carrier in my hand as we walked up the pathway to the house.
“What’s that?” the bodyguard asked, his hand moving under his coat.
“It’s a tiny dog,” Chloe said. Her bulldog began to wriggle, and Little Man yowled like a soprano.
“I’m so sorry,” I told them. “This is another house-call patient, but we’re admitting him to the hospital today. He has nothing contagious, just a wart that has to be removed.” I didn’t want to go into a long explanation of Little Man’s lesion.
“We can’t leave him out here in the cold,” Mari said.
“Of course not!” Chloe shivered and wrapped her coat tighter. “Bring him inside. He’s so cute.”
As we walked past Aldo, Little Man began to growl.
“Hey, look at the tough guy,” the bodyguard said. He lifted his hand and pointed it close to the carrier.
Little Man immediately lunged, his tooth slicing down on Aldo’s index finger.
The bodyguard screamed like a little kid. “You son of a…”
“Stop,” yelled Chloe, projecting her voice loudly like the actress she was.
“Look.” Aldo held up his finger, a drop of blood pooling above the nail.
“Put some snow on it,” Chloe said, ushering us inside. She slammed the front door shut and locked it, leaving Aldo banging at the door cursing.
“They’re going to freeze out there,” I told her.
Chloe stifled a giggle.
“Come with me.” Our client raced down the hallway, her dog under her arm. Toward the back of the house she flung open a door that revealed a sumptuous bedroom, with a sleek steel-and-glass fireplace filled with glowing white crystals. “Hurry up. In here.”
We found ourselves inside a massive closet larger than my whole apartment. A bank of shelves displayed her vast collection of shoes and boots. Chloe reached inside a pair of red heels and pulled out a metal fob. A section of the shelving swung open, and Chloe scooted us all inside. I thought we were getting a tour of the project Sookie had worked on. A quick slam of the door and press of the fob in her hand, and we heard bolts being thrown.
“Now no one can disturb us,” Chloe said with another a giggle.
Her giggle annoyed me. Our situation didn’t seem that funny. I had a horrible feeling we were locked in a safe room.
“What is this?” Mari asked her.
“It’s our emergency room. My husband had it built for security. See,” she gestured to a mini kitchen in the far corner with a refrigerator and microwave. “It’s always kept full with food.”
“This is so cool,” Mari said, taking in the ultra-modern room.
I fumed in silence while my assistant glanced at everything in awe. “Can you open it now, Chloe?” I asked. “I’d like to recheck Baby. We’re a little pressed for time today.”
The bulldog, still under her arm, pricked his ears up at his name.
“I’d love to, but it automatically locks itself for one hour. Want some juice?”
To hell with your juice! I wanted to say. This is the kind of stunt I’d expect from a ten-year-old.
“Look.” Mari pointed to the wall of monitors over the control desk. We watched Aldo kick at our truck tires while a gentle snow began to fall.
The snowstorm had started. Thanks to our client’s little trick, in one hour we’d be driving back to the animal hospital during a winter storm.
“Dr. Kate, why don’t we do Baby’s exam in here?” Mari suggested.
Chloe stared at both of us.
“Good idea.” At least Mari and I would be able to leave as soon as the hour was up. “Can you put him down so I can see him walk, please?”
The actress hesitated, then gently placed the dog on the floor, where he proceeded to dance around his owner’s legs. I detected not a trace of a limp.
“He acts like he’s completely recovered,” I told her. “Cindy said he’s still limping a little?”
Twirling around with her dog now in her arms, she avoided my gaze. “That may have been a petite fib. I was bored and wanted company—and you two are so nice, and so funny.”
She flashed an enchanting smile at me. One, I suspect, that usually got her what she wanted.
It didn’t work on me.
Chloe had lied and made us drive all the way up here because she was bored? She twirled again, expecting to be forgiven.
I looked to my assistant for some support, but she was staring at the monitor. Aldo and his friend were no longer on the screen. The snowflakes had thickened and were falling straight down, obscuring the view of the mountains.
“Shoot,” Mari said. “We’re going to miss the lab pickup at this rate. That means Little Man’s bloods won’t go out until tomorrow.”
Our prankster wasn’t listening. She’d opened the fridge and was peering inside. Once again Chloe asked if we’d like anything to drink.
“I’ll take an orange juice if you have it,” Mari politely said. “Dr. Kate?”
Frustrated and annoyed, I moved as far away from Chloe as I could. I took Little Man in his cat carrier with me.
“She’ll have a water,” Mari replied.
“Of course. Anything you want. You are my guests.” A clink of glass and Chloe turned with two glass bottles in her hands. “These are French. I hope you like them.”
I opened my Evian while Mari tried a fizzy fruit drink. Chloe, on the other hand, popped open a bottle of champagne and poured it into a fluted glass.
Little Man yipped loudly, as though saying no one is paying attention to me.
“Oh, you cute little sweetie pie,” Chloe said in a baby-talk voice. “Why is he in this ugly carrier?”
After seeing the look on my face, Mari spoke up. “He has a tumor that must be removed.”
Chloe poured another glass of champagne. “Let’s drink to his health.” Without waiting for us, she downed her drink like it was water.
I checked my watch. Only fifteen minutes had passed, but it felt like an hour. I watched while Chloe poured herself another flute of champagne.
“Do we have a Wi-Fi connection in here?” I asked.
“Of course,” she answered imperiously. “We are not savages.”
The wall phone suddenly rang, its jarring tone echoing in the locked room.
“Allo?” Chloe pressed the receiver to her ear and turned her back to us.
We both listened, but the most she said was “Oui” a few times, then “Salut” before she hung up.
“My husband is coming home tonight instead of tomorrow.” A beautiful smile lit her face. “I am so happy!” Once again, she unselfconsciously twirled around, stopping only to pour another flute of champagne. By my reckoning she’d almost finished the bottle.
“Won’t he wonder how we all ended up locked in the safe room?” Mari asked.
A delightful laugh was her response. “No, he knows I can cause mischief when I’m bored. He finds it charming.”
Needless to say, the charm of our situation escaped me.
At least Mari kept the conversation going. “Has he found out what happened to his Bitcoin yet?”
“No,” Chloe said, “but he will. Arthur hired some computer specialists to track it. They followed the money to somewhere in the Caribbean where they lost it for a while. But they think they know where it ended up.”
That at least interested me. Rainbow told me that it could be tricky following Bitcoin through the cyber world. “Any clue as to who stole his money?”
The champagne bottle poured its final glass. Chloe held it up high, draining the last drops. “Someone in Oak Falls, I believe. Whoever it is, I feel sorry for them.”
Mari frowned and asked, “Why would you feel sorry for them?”
“Because,” our hostess said, “my husband is very angry. He takes his finances very seriously, and—when he’s angry, he is very dangerous.”
The final half hour dragged, even though Mari and Chloe talked about everything from redecorating to puppies to her last movie premiere.
I’d listened to enough banter, preferring to sit on the small love seat and scroll through my emails with Little Man next to me. For now, he lay quietly, only growling a few times for effect. He’d gone from king of his house to being a prisoner of his nemesis. Little did he know at this moment we were both trapped.
Periodically, I heard bursts of laughter from Mari, my fellow captive, but for the most part I kept working. As always, there were emails to answer from clients with questions, or updates, or approving refills of medications. I’d just finished texting Cindy when a metallic clang signaled the door was finally open.
“Freedom!” Mari said in a loud voice.
I half expected a bodyguard to be standing outside with a pointed gun, but when Chloe pushed open the door the room was empty.
Before we left, Mari paused to look at the magnificent closet. Cabinet doors of glass and wood both revealed and concealed different sections. Custom drawers mixed with open shelving, and the wardrobes were organized by color. “Every woman’s dream,” Mari said. “Sookie did a great job.”
“Yes,” Chloe agreed. “Too bad she can’t do the same for our co-op in Manhattan, but my husband wouldn’t have hired her back anyway.”
“Sookie’s dead,” Mari reminded her.
Chloe kissed her French bulldog on the nose. “Yes. My husband has a terrible temper.”
