Murders of a Feather, page 23
“That’s a lot of tragedy for one person to deal with.”
“It was,” Ursula agreed. “I was so happy when she met José. They decided to make a clean start, elope, and move to California. I’ve got a separate guesthouse that they were welcome to use until they got settled.”
“It sounds idyllic.”
“It was perfect. Everything was perfect. What the hell happened? It feels like a nightmare I never wake up from.”
There was no answer I could give her.
“Listen,” Ursula said, “I’ve got plenty of money. Maybe I should hire a private investigator? What do you think?”
“That’s a good idea. Can your PI do some deep background checking on a few people I’m curious about?”
“Of course. Send me their names. And Kate, I’m so glad you called me. It’s hard waiting for the police to contact me every week only to tell me nothing. At least now I feel I’m doing something.”
I knew exactly how she felt.
With the unexpected help from Alicia’s sister, I became more optimistic. Maybe something unexpected would turn up. Small towns are funny. Most of the people who lived in Oak Falls had lived here their entire lives, but there were plenty of temporary residents and new residents, either seasonal or work related. Their pasts unknown. Like me. And Mike.
Cindy kept her head down when she returned to the employee lounge. For once she carried no packed lunch from home. Instead she held a professionally wrapped sandwich, coupled with a diet soda.
Mari almost exploded in her chair. “What are you eating?”
“I had a fight with the hubby last night,” she told us. Cindy folded herself into one of our more comfortable chairs and slid it up to the table. As we watched she popped open the soda can and took a swig directly from the can.
Now I was shocked. Cindy never ever drank from the can and hadn’t drunk a soda in all the time I’d been working at the animal hospital. She swore they tasted of metal.
A tiny belch escaped from her mouth. “Bubbles,” she explained. “They give me gas.”
“Technically bubbles are gas,” I said, still in a state of shock. I’d sat through endless lectures about healthy eating from our receptionist. It felt bizarre—like watching Mahatma Gandhi chow down on a hamburger.
Mari’s reaction focused on the practical. “What’s in that sandwich?”
“It’s the deli special—the works.”
“The works?” I repeated. A strong smell of pickles and pepperoni wafted from the sandwich wrapper. This from a person who railed against processed foods and too much salt in most American diets.
“He wants me to have the lawyers hire someone to help catalog all of Babs’s stuff. I’ve cut back on my weekend work, but he complains he never sees me.” A large bite of sandwich emphasized her statement.
“Maybe that’s not a bad idea,” I told her.
Mari swiveled her head away from the sandwich back to Cindy, mesmerized. “Chip?” she asked holding out a large bag of Fritos.
Our receptionist paused for another gulp of soda then said, “Sure. Might as well lose all credibility.”
I decided not to share with my friends right now the lengthy conversation with Alicia’s sister, Ursula. Instead, we laughed and joked while the planet Earth spun under our feet and Cindy belched. I thought we still had plenty of time to catch a killer.
The calendar inched toward Valentine’s Day. Mike texted me about dinner plans. We’d left planning things a little too late. Most restaurants had only very early reservations left or super late ones. Although I’m not terribly fussy about those things, I didn’t want to eat dinner at four fifteen in the afternoon or ten thirty at night.
“Let’s keep trying,” I advised him, “and take any reasonable time available.”
“Too bad Valentine’s Day is in February. If it were in springtime, we could have a picnic. The only things we can eat outside now are popsicles and ice cream.”
The idea of sharing popsicles in the snow made me smile. “I’ll take a Popsicle-sharing rain check.”
“You’re on.” The sound of Mike’s beeper interrupted us. “Sorry, got to go. I’ll call you tonight.”
After we hung up, I realized Mike’s picnic in the snow image brought me back to a fundamental question that kept bothering me. What were José and Alicia doing at Lover’s Lake?
After making a list of questions, I decided to call Alicia’s roommate, Nora. I have to admit I was also curious as to why she was smooching Rob, José’s roommate, in a Chinese restaurant parking lot. She picked up on the fourth ring.
“Hi, Nora? This is Dr. Turner over at the Oak Falls Animal Hospital.”
“Dr. Kate. Thanks so much for following up with Sparky. He’s doing great.”
“You’re welcome.” This was going pretty well so far. “Do you mind me asking a few more questions about Alicia and José?”
“Sure,” she said. “Anything to help find their killer.”
“Do you have any idea what they were doing in the woods up by Lover’s Lake?”
“That’s easy. They got engaged there last June. José and Alicia used to picnic up there and swim during the summer.”
“They swam in the lake?” That surprised me, though I’m not sure why.
“Yuck, I know. There are fish and plants and who knows what in that water, but they didn’t mind. I prefer to swim in the rock quarry by High Falls or a pool, someplace where I don’t have to worry about stepping on squishy stuff.”
Nora’s focus tended to shift. I needed to move along. “So they knew that area pretty well.”
“It was one of their favorite spots. José in particular liked it because of the quiet. They both had pretty hectic jobs and liked to chill on the weekends.” In the background I heard Sparky barking.
“Is that where they wanted to get married?”
Over the phone I heard her begin to respond then stop. “Let me think a moment,” she replied. I waited while she thought things over. I hoped she wasn’t taking the extra time to conjure up a lie.
“Alicia didn’t tell me exactly, but my impression was that they were going to elope. I suppose they might have used Lover’s Lake as their venue, but I’m not sure.”
If that was true, then I needed to find out if Alicia and José had applied for a wedding license. Were they planning to have the ceremony when they were killed?
“Thanks, Nora.” I tried to phrase my next question as casually as possible. “By the way, I saw you and Rob outside the Chinese restaurant the other night. I didn’t know you two were dating.”
“It’s recent. We got thrown together so much after the murders that one thing led to another…and you know.”
I didn’t know. But I wanted to find out.
The next morning before appointments started, I let slip that Rob and Nora were dating.
“Old news,” Cindy commented while taking a small bite of her breakfast bar. “My hubby and I saw them making out in front of the grocery store about a week ago, right near the entrance. What do you kids call it? PDA? Public display of affection? They were pretty into it.”
“Yuck,” Mari said and took another bite of her jelly doughnut. “You’d think they’d have a little more…”
“Sensitivity?”
Cindy jumped in with a change of subject. “That reminds me of the kissing booth the football coach set up one year in my high school. The cheerleaders and the football players sold kisses for two bucks.”
“Gross,” said Mari. “Did you do it?”
“Yep. It was a different time then. No one objected, but the experiences were very uneven.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well the jocks all got sweet kisses and giggles from the girls lining up, but the cheerleaders got guys trying to play tonsil hockey and cop a feel.”
“Double gross,” Mari stated in disbelief.
“Afterward we ratted to our parents, and that pretty much ended the kissing booth situation. To be replaced by the high school car wash to raise money for the team.”
“Right,” Mari said. “Guys in regular clothes and cheerleaders in tight tops and short skirts. Women grow up thinking that kind of stuff is normal. Football, football, football. Did anyone hold fundraisers for the girls’ teams? Don’t get me started.”
As we finished cleaning up and getting ready for our first appointment, Mari’s observation sparked a thought. Alicia was painted as a home-wrecker and flirt, but it took two to do that kind of cheating tango.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was the start of a brand new day, and my first appointment began in a normal fashion. The young couple, Caleb and Portia, were in their twenties and had brought their fluffy Pomeranian dog Cutie-Pie in for her annual physical and shots.
We chatted a bit about their pet’s history. While we talked, Cutie-Pie snuggled sweetly on her mommy’s chest. When the boyfriend came near his girlfriend, the Pomeranian snarled.
That’s not good, I thought.
I asked Mari to put Cutie-Pie on the stainless-steel exam table. She seemed fine with Mari and me, even allowing us to check her teeth with no resistance. Caleb and Portia had just become engaged, they confided. Everyone was pleased for them except the dog.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” I asked.
“Cutie-Pie poops in Caleb’s shoes whenever she can,” Phoebe began in a hesitant voice, “and on his side of the bed. She also chewed up his wallet and peed on his bath towel.”
Caleb’s face registered his disgust. “She’s taking her revenge on me.”
“But I love this smooshy baby so much.” Phoebe held the dog up to her cheek and proceeded to cover her dog’s face with kisses. Caleb reached over to pet her and, like a snapping turtle, this ball of fluff came close to biting off his fingers.
“Mari,” I said, “why don’t you take Cutie-Pie into the treatment area for her blood test? I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She nodded, slid the little orange fluff-ball into her arms, and hightailed it out before the Pomeranian could protest.
With Cutie-Pie safely out of the exam room, the couple moved closer, his arm around her waist. Time for Dog Psychology 101.
“Phoebe, can you tell me how you got Cutie-Pie and at what age?” The easy questions would come first.
“Well,” she smiled at her boyfriend then continued, “a friend from work said her next-door neighbor’s Pomeranian had had puppies. She knew I wanted a small dog, so she told me and I went over and completely fell in love with her. I’ve never had a dog before. She’s my little baby.”
“What about you?” I asked Caleb. “Did you have dogs growing up?”
A wide grin relaxed his handsome face. “Always. But mostly golden retrievers and lab mixes. I’ve got four brothers. Lots of rough and tumble in our house. We’d go hiking and camping with our dogs. They loved to play Frisbee.”
Cutie-Pie was about the size of a Frisbee.
“It sounds like your pets were part of the family,” I noted. “So you’re used to handling dogs.”
“Right. Which makes me so frustrated that Cutie-Pie hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” protested Phoebe.
“Oh, yes she does,” countered the fiancé.
Oops. Trouble in paradise.
“I’m going to give you the names of some animal behavioral specialists and links to some literature.”
“Is there anything we can do in the meantime?” Caleb asked.
“Of course. Think of this situation from the dog’s point of view. She’s always had her mommy, that’s you, Phoebe, in her life. Everything was fine until Caleb showed up and you stopped paying as much attention to your Pomeranian. She sees no reason to share her mommy with you, Caleb. So, I would suggest you change things up. First, Caleb should be the only one feeding her dinner and giving her treats. Every day he needs to go through basic commands and reward her. Phoebe, you can buckle her harness on and attach the leash, but then let Caleb take her for a walk. Alone. What we’re trying to do is establish Caleb as another source of good things, like food. Does Cutie-Pie like other dogs? You might consider some play dates with another small dog.”
“She adores playing with that Jack Russell terrier at the park.” They both nodded in agreement.
“You have to remember that Pomeranians are an ancient dog breed descended from the Spitz. They were guard dogs and companions to the wealthy, especially the British aristocracy.”
“Are you writing this down, honey?” Caleb said to Phoebe, who had an astonished look on her face.
“Ah,…”
“Don’t worry. Our receptionist will supply you with all this information, and I’ll include it in my treatment notes. Now, let me draw the blood for her blood panel, and we’ll have the three of you out of here as soon as we can.”
Following me out to reception, I handed them over to Cindy.
In the treatment room Mari had set up for the blood draw, she had Cutie-Pie stashed under her arm.
“How’s she been with you?” I walked over and let Cutie-Pie sniff then lick my fingers.
“A perfect little doll.”
“She’s got a bad case of ‘Don’t Touch My Mommy’. It helps that she’s naturally sweet tempered. Behavior therapy should work well—if they follow the guidelines. The weakest link is going to be Phoebe.”
“Cutie-Pie is her baby.”
“And her baby has very sharp teeth.”
It only took a moment to draw blood from the tiny, fluffy leg while Mari distracted her.
“See if they brought a harness and leash,” I told Mari. “We might as well start now.”
If the couple didn’t have a harness, I would strongly recommend one. Little dogs are prone to collapsed tracheas, which makes them have a honking cough sound after straining at their collar. Constant pressure on and trauma to the trachea may lead to difficulty breathing and, worst case scenario for an older dog, heart failure.
A harness also makes it harder for these tiny dogs to slip out of their collar and leash and go AWOL.
Mari came back with a pink harness studded with rhinestones and a matching lead. After slipping the ten-pound Pomeranian into it, I commanded her to sit and stay and shake hands with me, all of which she dutifully complied with. I rewarded her with a tiny piece of dog treat.
When I arrived back in reception, Phoebe raced over to be with her beloved pet. “Tell you what,” I said. “You go ahead and pet her, but I’m going to hand the leash to Caleb.”
With that I placed the dog on the floor and handed him the leash and bag of dog treats. Both man and beast appeared astonished.
“Tell her to sit and then give her a small treat with a big fuss. Continue that several times today. Remember, Phoebe, Caleb feeds Cutie-Pie her meals and does the walking. She must learn to associate him with fun. And she needs to sleep in her own bed for now, not with you two.”
Phoebe stared in amazement, watching Cutie-Pie sit like a champ and take her treat nicely.
“Please call or email me if you have any questions. It’s been very nice meeting you. I’ll let you settle up with Cindy.”
“Thanks so much, Dr. Kate. We just got engaged, and Cutie-Pie was the only bump in the road.” Phoebe held her ring up so we could admire it. “Everyone, have a Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Another engagement, another happy couple. If they followed the advice of the animal behaviorist, I believed they could solve this problem.
Obsessive love. Jealous vindictive love. You see it in people and in animals that fixate on one person. That one being is all they want, all they need. And when they can’t have them—they show their teeth.
Sitting in front of my computer answering my email I realized I now knew quite a lot about Alicia and Babs, but next to nothing about the lawsuit brought against José by Greg Owen. I thought back to my conversation with Rob, that José was being sued. I went on to the Internet and, sure enough, his Instagram account, Facebook, and professional profile were still up and running. He had worked at an orthopedic practice in Kingston.
Even the dead keep an online presence.
I went back to finishing up my paperwork, feeling a little frustrated. I couldn’t show up at a medical practice asking personal questions. Access to the doctors were limited to patients.
My search for Greg Owens, the grieving widower, revealed his wife’s obituary and the lawsuit. As far as the Internet knew, Greg Owens had no past.
Lunchtime offered me the perfect opportunity to snoop closer to home. I fetched my lunch from the employee fridge and sat down. Cindy and Mari were in yet another heated conversation about uniform colors, their heads deep in a veterinary apparel catalog.
“I hate yellow,” Mari told Cindy. “It makes me look jaundiced.”
Cindy smiled, knowing this was the beginning of decision-making.
“Kate. What color is a no for you?” she asked.
“Pink. Or any neon colors. You two can decide, just make sure there are a lot of pockets.” Although I wore a deep-pocketed white coat over my scrubs, at the end of the day I still had scraps of paper, sticky notes, and packs of gum in various pockets, not to mention my stethoscope, tongue depressors, tape, and assorted debris.
“I’m not sure if that makes it easier,” Mari said, taking a bite of her sandwich.
“Tell you what. You guys choose your favorites, then I’ll be the tiebreaker. Okay?”
Cindy reluctantly agreed to delegate some of her control.
With peace temporarily in place, I jumped right in with questions about José.
“I thought you were looking for the murderer,” Cindy said. “José was a victim. Why are you asking us about him?”
“It’s because I know nothing about him. Maybe the murders involve something in his past. Or his recent life in Oak Falls.”
