Murders of a Feather, page 25
By the time we hung up, I’d forgotten all about stalkers. Mike suggested we spend more time together, so we compared schedules—the height of a modern romantic gesture, as far as I was concerned.
“I’ve got to be on call every other weekend because we’re short-staffed,” he began.
“I’ve got clinics every other Saturday, so our clients who have tight schedules can get in to see us. If I admit a patient, I have to be available on Sunday, too.”
Since he lived and worked almost an hour away, near Rhinebeck, synchronizing our schedules was imperative.
“Tell you what,” I offered. “I’ll adjust to your schedule. I have a lot more flexibility than you do.” I had no doubt when I told Cindy I wanted to try and spend more time with Mike, she’d figure things out.
“Maybe one Sunday I can come over to your place and cook you dinner,” he offered. I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning. “You cook?”
“Yep. As the oldest in a big farm family, I learned plenty of homemaking skills.”
Being who I was, I demanded clarification. “You’re talking about really cooking dinner from scratch? Not heating up a frozen meal or microwaving takeout?”
Once more his warm laughter oozed out of my cell phone.
“Cooking from scratch, of course. And as long as we are sharing, the other strange thing I have to confess is I like to do laundry. I find it soothing. My mom and I used to do at least four or five loads every weekend, so the younger kids would have clean clothes for school.”
Be still my heart. “Okay, but I insist on doing the dishes,” I said in a determined self-righteous voice. Had I hit the jackpot with Mike? Was the universe finally going to give me a break? I felt like dancing.
“Send me your schedule,” I told him, trying to be extremely practical, “and I’ll work it out with my office manager.”
“Great,” he answered.
“It’s getting late. We should probably call it a night,” I told him reluctantly. “I’ve got two surgeries tomorrow and a full day of appointments.”
“My day is packed, too. Sometimes I think I should just sleep in my scrubs.”
We laughed together and then said good night.
Before he hung up, Mike said, “I miss you already.”
And I found to my surprise I felt the same.
So I told him.
Chapter Thirty-Four
When I woke up, I thought about Mike and our conversation the night before. With former boyfriends, my schedule always proved an issue. When Luke moved away for law school, he barely came back to visit, not wanting to travel just to find out I was on call. Dating another veterinarian, who knew what I dealt with, felt like a big relief. Plus we could hang out even when one of us was working. I knew plenty of classmates who got married to each other during school, and all of them were still together. I let myself feel optimistic as I tied my robe tightly and took the dogs for their walk.
While Buddy sniffed his favorite tree, first one, then the other two crows flew down and perched on my truck. Bella stood stock still in astonishment. I’d already stashed a ziplock bag of food for the crows above the clothes rack, so I dug into my pocket and put their food as usual on the small rubber mat on the truck hood. That way they wouldn’t be fishing food out of the snow and getting colder while trying to eat.
My former patient lifted his beak in my direction. Once again I noted glittering black eyes and shiny feathers. I said good morning to them and called for Buddy and Bella to finish up.
Since it was still early, I went into the hospital and was greeted by that delicious coffee smell. Cindy was there. She enjoyed being the first person in, making the coffee, and going over the day’s schedule. I picked up my coffee mug and the memories started flooding back: Alicia being stalked, José buying a gun a week before he died, and discovering Babs’s body in our surgery suite.
The coffee tasted bitter.
Cindy received a text from her son, so I went into my office to check incoming lab reports and client email. In my private account, I found an email from Alicia’s sister, Ursula. Her private investigator had traced the high school boy who had stalked Alicia and enclosed a photo of David “Scooter” Hayes. He tried running down the guy’s Social Security number, but it ended up a dead end—no information for the past five years. In the investigator’s report, he mentioned Scooter had a close buddy, but that person had never been in trouble. On a side note, Scooter applied and was accepted at the same college in New York that Alicia went to but dropped out after his first year. A coincidence? I didn’t think so.
The photo captured an obese teenager with pitting acne and crooked teeth. His dark hair was long and greasy. Large tinted glasses hid his eyes and upper face. A thin scraggly beard obscured his mouth and chin. I’d be hard-pressed to pick him out in a lineup but was quite sure I’d never seen him before. Although women often changed their faces and bodies with plastic surgery, it wasn’t as common with men, especially young men. But to be thorough, I printed the photo and taped it to the wall near my desk.
Alicia must have filed a complaint against a boy in college, because the PI included it in his report. Her Albany college stalker also dropped out of school only to enlist in the army. He was killed in Afghanistan.
I leaned back into my desk chair and realized the men in Alicia’s life hadn’t profited by knowing her. A high school boyfriend who died. Her first husband’s suicide, and now, the murder of fiancé José. Are some people magnets for violence?
Ursula closed her email by asking if there were any new findings in the investigation. On my part, no, I replied. But I told her to be sure to contact Chief Garcia every week and to tell him everything she’d told me.
Then I had a thought. What if the Oak Falls stalker had been one of Alicia’s clients? After all, a lawyer works very closely with the people who hire them. Maybe the killer was a former or current client or an employee? How could I get my hands on that type of highly confidential information?
Just then Cindy poked her head in. “What did you think of Harriet?” she asked, walking in and making herself comfortable in one of the chairs in front of my desk. The other seat was occupied by Mr. Katt, who’d decided to spread some of his cat hair around and was lounging upside down in the other upholstered chair.
“I thought Harriet was a hoot, and I liked her. Very blunt and straightforward.”
“That she is. Did she tell you anything important?” Cindy’s eyes went to the picture of Scooter Hayes taped on the wall by my desk.
“She confirmed that both José and Alicia were jittery in that last week. José took Alicia’s fears to heart and bought a gun for protection. What I’m curious about is who was going to marry them? Maybe he or she was the killer.”
“She?” Cindy didn’t sound very convinced that the murderer might be female. “Are there any indications that a woman killed them? And who is that?” She pointed to Scooter’s picture.
“Someone from Alicia’s high school. Probably a dead end,” I admitted. “As far as a woman being the killer, I have no idea. There’s no evidence either way.”
“Wouldn’t it take a lot of strength to kill them both?” she asked.
“We’re not talking weightlifter-like strong. Gramps thought the suspect would have to be fairly strong, so that rules out some suspects, like Linda, the ex-wife. José was shot at close range, and Alicia was strangled. A larger woman might easily have caught José off guard and overpowered Alicia, who was quite slim and petite. I’m just not ready to eliminate that possibility.”
“So Alicia might have had a female admirer?”
“Not necessarily an admirer. Maybe it was a wife who didn’t like how her husband felt about another woman or one of José’s former girlfriends. Maybe José was the real target, not Alicia. I’m eliminating nothing and no one at the moment.”
Cindy rose and checked her cell phone. “This is too much for me to think about. Did I tell you we found a closet full of midcentury modern ceramics off the kitchen at Babs’s place? Every piece has to be identified, wrapped, and assigned an approximate value.”
“Did an heir come forward yet?”
“No one. I wish they would, because I’m beat.”
“Sorry,” I answered. Cindy shrugged her shoulders and headed for reception.
I realized I’d been saying “sorry” quite often these last few weeks.
Mr. Katt yawned and promptly stretched to his full length and then some, before curling back into a warm ball and closing his eyes.
“I’m thinking of taking down that picture of Scooter in my office,” I mentioned to Mari as I put on my white coat to see hospital appointments. “There is something about him that gives me the creeps.”
“Agreed,” she said, rummaging through her scrub top pockets as we got ready for our next appointment.
“Lose something?” I asked.
“No, just seeing if I have my favorite pen with me.”
Like me, Mari often wrote herself quick notes during the day. Everything else was entered into our laptop or electronic tablets. A very efficient system, but at least once or twice a day I needed to write myself a quick note about something or other.
“So, what’s the issue with this client?” I asked Mari.
“Routine exam and shots,” she said, “and they also want to talk about cloning their dog.”
“Oh, crap.”
Speaking to owners about cloning their pets is a difficult topic, not to mention one fraught with ethical and moral roadblocks. With so many animals needing homes, it was a controversial topic. As I prepared to see these clients, I updated myself on the latest news from that field. Yes, there are companies that specialized in cloning pets, mostly dogs and cats. The cost is significant but the success rate, to read the advertising statistics, is pretty impressive. But reports have surfaced with concerns about all aspects of the procedure. This isn’t only a debate for family pets; horses, sheep, and other food animals have all been cloned.
I let Mari do a quick triage before knocking on the door.
A well-dressed couple in their forties stood next to the exam table, where a happy mixed-breed dog was wagging its tail, just pleased to be out of the house.
“Want your stuffy?” the doggy mom said.
Immediately the dog sat down and put out its paw. The reward was a beat-up gray squirrel, rat, or rabbit, depending on your interpretation.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Kate Turner,” I said, introducing myself.
“Ellen and Jeff Walden,” the woman replied. “And this is Liz Tailer.”
The dog’s head swiveled on hearing her name. Not sure if she was being addressed directly, she glanced back at her owners, eager to please.
“Hi, Liz,” I told the sweet little dog. Liz looked like a shih tzu-poodle mix. A shihtz-doodle. My exam uncovered no specific health problem with this seven-year-old girl, and the owners stated she’d been very healthy.
The couple seemed a bit nervous. I decided to make it easier for them.
“My veterinary assistant, Mari, says you had some questions about cloning Liz Tailer?”
“Yes,” Ellen said, nervously cuddling her pet. “I hope you don’t think we’re horrible because all our friends think we’re being selfish.”
“And nuts,” her husband kicked in.
I’d been to several CE seminars that touched on the pet cloning debate. Emotions triumphed over logic in most cases. Many of these pet owners had extremely strong emotional attachments to their particular pet and couldn’t imagine a life without them.
“She’s our baby. We don’t have any children,” the wife continued, tears springing into her eyes. “We adopted her when she was a tiny puppy.”
“Have you researched the animal cloning companies?” I asked. “The largest in the USA, I believe, is located in Texas.”
Ellen took her husband’s hand for support. “Yes, they sent us their literature.”
“They do offer,” I began, “storage of your pet’s DNA until you decide if you want to proceed. I noticed some tartar on Liz’s teeth that we should remove within the next year or so, and that is a perfect time for me to collect the genetic sample while she is under anesthesia.”
“So it won’t hurt?” Ellen asked, squeezing her husband’s hand.
“It won’t hurt,” I assured her. “The company will send me a collection kit. All they require is a punch biopsy, similar to how your dermatologist does a skin biopsy, and our hospital will send the sample directly to them. I think that eliminates being forced to make an immediate decision. As for being selfish—this is your decision. If it is important to your mental health, then it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. By the way, there are thousands of genetic samples of pets currently being stored in advance of cloning.”
“Thousands?”
“That’s what the company says. Owners like you, who haven’t decided what to do, can confidently store their dogs’ genetic material.”
Jeff still looked uneasy, as if he had another question for me.
“Do you have any other questions?” I asked.
Jeff blurted out his concern. “Who supplies the surrogate mom and egg? I’m not sure I understand.”
“It is a bit complicated,” I explained. “The company supplies both the eggs and surrogate mom. When it is time to clone, the donor egg’s genetic material is removed and your dog’s DNA is inserted. That egg is grown in the lab, and when it is viable and duplicating, it is placed into the fallopian tubes of the mother dog. After she gives birth, the puppy or puppies stay with her until they are eight weeks old. A company veterinarian will examine your puppy and make sure it is healthy before you receive it.”
“How do we get our new puppy?”
“It won’t be by Amazon Prime delivery,” I joked. “There are several options available, but that’s something to discuss with them. Let us know when or if you want to proceed, because I’ll call and go over their protocol beforehand.”
Ellen’s husband picked up Liz Tailer and gave her a kiss. “Thanks for the explanation. We’ve both read it a bunch of times, but it didn’t make any sense. At least now we know we don’t have to make a decision right away.”
“No problem. Mari will take you to reception, where Cindy has a packet prepared for you on the dentistry. You can email me any time if you have questions. We included some Internet sites run by other families who have cloned their pets. Remember, the cloned puppy will be genetically identical to your dog but may not look or act identically. I also urge you to read about the negative aspects of cloning. Specifically the business of cloning and the lives of the surrogate mommy dogs.”
Mari escorted them down the hallway, and I went into my office to touch up my notes. I also sent an email to a colleague of mine who had firsthand experience with cloning a pet for one of his clients.
I’d never had a client who cloned their pet.
By the time we finished for the day at around six p.m., Mari and I were exhausted. I’d admitted one of our scheduled surgeries early, so his owners wouldn’t have to deny him breakfast tomorrow. His pleading eyes, they told us, forced them to cave and feed him a forbidden breakfast on surgery day. Having gone through two last-minute cancellations, I suggested our easy solution. This evening he’d board overnight and eat dinner at the hospital; I’d handle the rest. An NPO sign, nothing by mouth, would be posted on his cage, and as the surgeon, I’d make sure he didn’t eat.
Cindy poked her head into the office to say good night. I should have asked her a million questions about the murder investigation, but seriously, I could barely keep my eyes open. I’m not sure how she felt, but I felt like I was on a treadmill that kept speeding up while I already was walking as fast as I could.
“Were you able to follow my link and give those clients the cloning information?” I asked our receptionist.
“Yes, thanks for the heads-up. That’s one subject I don’t have a lot of current information on. I also don’t know how I feel about it, to tell you the truth.”
“Me either. In the CE class I took, the speaker asked if your three-year-old child had an accident and you had the opportunity to clone them, would you?”
Cindy’s eyes grew distant. “That’s a rough one.”
“Be nonjudgmental was the advice he gave. In a way, I think people hope to achieve a kind of immortality for their animal. But life is change. You can never replace one pet, and all your shared experiences, with another. It’s better, I feel, to hold the memories of your loved one close and expand your heart to welcome another.”
Cindy smiled, “That’s something your Gramps would say.”
“Maybe he did. Go home and get some rest. Mari and I will finish anything left to do.”
About twenty minutes later, I’d done all my callbacks and records and went out front to check on Mari. I found her in surgery. My incredibly strong and dedicated assistant was crying.
She dried her eyes and blew her nose. “Sorry you had to see this. Every time I come in here before closing, I end up reliving the day we found her.”
I gave Mari a hug. “You’re grieving, plus Gramps cautioned we might have PTSD. Have you spoken to anyone about this?”
She broke away. “Who has time to talk to a shrink?”
“Please try to make time,” I told her as I followed her out into the treatment area. “Check our insurance coverage with Cindy. You and I suffered tremendous psychological trauma over a period of a week. First José, then locating Alicia’s body in the lake, followed by finding Babs right here in the animal hospital. I’m surprised we’re still standing.”
“I’m standing,” she joked, “but barely.”
We took out the countertop cleaner and put stray objects away where they belonged. Working was therapeutic for me, and I told her so. “I also think investigating is my way of dealing with these deaths. I can distance myself while trying to solve them intellectually. Gramps always talked about that, because he saw a lot of gruesome things during his firefighting career.”
