Murders of a Feather, page 28
Where to begin? “Well, first of all, he isn’t Rob. He’s Scooter Evans, who stalked Alicia for at least a decade. He was obsessed with her. In his warped mind he figured if he changed his looks, she’d fall in love with him. When she didn’t—he decided to kill the competition.”
“Even though José was a friend?”
“No such thing as a friend in Rob’s twisted “Scooter,” mind. He may have killed Alicia’s high school boyfriend and her lawyer husband, James.”
“No kidding,” Mari said. “So the husband may have been a murder, not a suicide?”
“It looks like it.” I forced a morsel of banana in my mouth before jumping back up again.
“Was there a second killer, like you thought?”
“Nope,” I answered. “Only Rob.”
“The chief is going to have his hands full sorting all this out.”
The surgery waiting room door swung open, and Cindy marched in. She carried two small duffle bags as well as her purse.
“Thanks for coming,” I told her, hugging her close. With both my friends here, my anxiety level dropped a few notches. A flicker of change on the board indicated one of the surgical patients had been moved to recovery.
“I take it Mike’s still in surgery,” she said, claiming a seat next to Mari. “I contacted a few people at his work, so they’re taking care of things on that end.”
Mike’s work? I was ashamed to say the thought didn’t cross my mind. “What about his parents?” I asked.
“Kendra, their office manager, spoke to them briefly and will keep them updated. From what the surgeon said, it was a pretty straightforward repair.”
“You spoke to the surgeon?”
Several people in the waiting room glanced my way. I didn’t realize how much I’d raised my voice.
“Sit down, Kate,” she whispered. “The chief talked to the surgeon, and I talked to the chief. The surgical team is finishing up and will move him to recovery soon. Then you’ll be able to see him.”
That hard lump in my throat and stomach melted. I reached over and smooched Cindy on the cheek. “Thank you so much. I’ve been thinking the worst.”
“You’re welcome.” She dug out a bottle of water from one of the duffel bags. “Drink this. You’ve got to stay hydrated. Those cuts on your hands look painful.”
“Yes, sir, General Cindy.” I’d taken another big bite from my banana, which suddenly tasted fantastic. “Don’t worry. They look worse than they feel.”
“What’s in the duffel bag?” asked Mari.
“Toothpaste, toothbrushes, comb, underwear, and clothes for Mike, change of clothes for you, Kate, your phone charger…everything I thought you’d need for an overnight stay.”
There was no point asking Cindy how she knew sizes, etc. She was super-efficient and organized and a national treasure in my eyes.
From her purse she removed a computer tablet and powered it up.
“You’re working now?” I asked in disbelief.
“No.” Despite the circumstances, she appeared fresh and ready for anything, with makeup and hair perfect. “I’ve heard from Doc Anderson.”
Mari and I exchanged glances. We’d been following the owner of Oak Falls Animal Hospital on his around-the-world-cruise from his postings on Facebook. In the last few months, they’d tapered off. We’d been so busy I hadn’t noticed, but now I started to worry.
“Did he have another heart attack?” Mari blurted out, concern on her face.
“No,” Cindy said. “He’s getting married.”
“Married!” Now it was Mari’s turn to be stared at by everyone in the room. “He’s on a cruise with his sister. Who did he meet? A mermaid?”
“Apparently not.” She slid her electronic device over so Mari and I could view the picture he’d posted. There stood Doc Anderson on the deck of a ship looking healthy and happy, his arm around a woman about his age. She looked a lot like Cindy.
“I can’t believe it either,” Cindy told us. “Doc and his sister both play bridge, and I guess they were paired with two ladies from Virginia.”
“Virginia? So Southern ladies.”
“I suppose so because according to Doc, they started talking after the game ended—which led to a friendly drink.”
“And…”
“Her name is Charlene, and she’s a widow.”
“That’s perfect,” Mari interjected. “Doc is a widower.”
Cindy raised her eyebrows then continued. “For the past three months they’ve been inseparable. She owns a stud farm in Virginia horse country and has a place on the beach in Hilton Head, South Carolina—along with three grown children and seven grandchildren.”
“An instant family for Doc.”
I knew that Doc and his wife had been unable to conceive during their long marriage. His wife’s health declined dramatically ten years ago after being diagnosed with brain cancer. Surgery proved unsuccessful.
“I’m so happy for him,” Cindy said. “He’ll make a fantastic grandfather.”
This was all moving too quickly for me. Mike in the hospital—Doc getting married—and me out of a job.
“So they’ll move back here to Oak Falls after they get married?” I asked.
“Hell, no.” Cindy looked around to make sure no one else in the waiting room heard her. “Charlene wants to be near her children and grandchildren, so Doc is moving to her place in Virginia. She’s putting him to work with her horses.”
That still didn’t solve my problem.
“Kate, Doc wants to know if you want to buy the Oak Falls Animal Hospital.”
Buy a veterinary practice? My head began to ring.
I could barely afford to buy a car. Disbelief numbed my brain. He wants to sell his practice? Doc Anderson was only sixty-five years old. I remembered seeing a picture of his birthday cake. He’d practiced veterinary medicine in Oak Falls for over thirty years. How could he sell everything and move to Virginia after knowing someone for three months? It sounded crazy.
And brave.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mike’s recovery proved uneventful, if painful. The bullet tore through skin and muscles, nicking a bone. His orthopedic doctor stabilized the wounded arm with a sling, but even a slight jolt made him wince. He’d gone back to work with some modifications, paired with a veterinary technician skilled in mixed-animal techniques and restraint. Each night after leaving work, he retreated to his own place, exhausted.
Not a situation conducive to romance.
A genealogist working for the estate lawyer found a distant cousin of Babs’s, who was astonished at her good fortune. An animal lover, she wished she had met her second cousin once removed sooner. As a single mom with a preteen who currently rented, she planned to move into the gatekeeper’s home, free of debt.
And she adored midcentury modern.
Rob “Scooter” Evans faced more charges when his personal computer revealed links to fake identities, ghost guns, and plenty of disturbing dark websites. People he knew had a bad habit of turning up dead. The chief brought in the FBI. Alicia’s law firm, spearheaded by Hughie, watched and listened as the case against Rob took shape. They intended to help convict the man who killed their colleague, any way they could.
Winter hinted of the spring to follow in the Hudson Valley. Snow periodically turned into rain, and the first golden forsythia flowers burst into bloom. My wild crow family spent more time away—scouting nesting sites—our cawing adventures over.
I missed them.
Doc Anderson called from an Internet café in Europe early one morning before office hours and clarified his intention to sell the practice.
“I’ve got so many memories tied up there in Oak Falls,” he told me over a static-filled phone connection. “But I realized during my travels I needed to create new ones. Things change. You only live your life once.”
That, I agreed with. When I brought up money, he proposed a solution. He’d hold a private note for me at a reasonable rate, provided I came up with a suitable down payment.
“I won’t sell my hospital to a corporate buyer,” he stated, referencing the many large companies investing in animal hospitals. “If possible I’d like to help out a young vet like you. But you have to keep Cindy on,” he stipulated. “And Mari.”
“No problem,” I answered. “I’d be lost without them.”
“Take your time and think about it,” he said, sounding oddly like Gramps. “But don’t call me tomorrow. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and my fiancée, Charlene, and I are going dancing.”
That night I found out dancing on Valentine’s Day was a no for Mike and me. The same for dinner and drinks.
“One of the vets who covered for me while I was out sick wants Valentine’s Day off. She’s been so helpful working my shifts—I didn’t feel right saying no.” Mike’s voice over the phone sounded both disappointed and apologetic. “However, I’ve got an alternative plan.”
“I’m listening.”
“February 15. That can be our Valentine’s Day. I’ve even got the 16th off, in case our dinner runs late.”
“Runs late? How late?”
“Into breakfast, hopefully.”
“It sounds like this time you planned ahead,” I joked, wishing he was sitting next to me. “So where is all this going to happen? My place or yours?”
Mike laughed. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you.”
A perfect answer.
“I feel the same.”
Buddy groaned and twitched at my feet dreaming an energetic doggy dream. Bella slumbered next to him, tiny new hairs all over her body visible when the light struck just right.
“We can still hang out at my large-animal clinic on Valentine’s Day, if you want,” Mike suggested. “Just us, our receptionist, two techs, and a few sick horses. It might get messy.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I think I’m needed somewhere else.”
Alone on my sofa, dogs at my feet, I thought about love and sacrifice. I’d met clients willing to spend thousands to never say goodbye to their fur babies. Pets who mirrored their owners, and a dog named Booty Call.
Only one thing left to do. I called the most constant man in my life, my forever and ever valentine. When Gramps answered, I asked him an important question.
“Hey, Gramps, how would you feel about having three dates on Valentine’s Day? I could referee if your two lady friends get frisky.”
His belly laugh made me grin. “Thought you’d never ask, Katie.”
I could almost smell his famous pasta sauce cooking on the stove.
THE END
If you enjoyed Murders of a Feather, don’t miss the following excerpt from Last But Not Leashed, another Dr. Kate Vet Mystery available from Poisoned Pen Press.
Chapter One
“Keanu. Stop kissing me.”
Despite my pleas, Keanu drew closer, his soulful, dark eyes begging for more.
“You’re being a bad, bad boy.”
The friendly Labrador retriever mix, named after the famous actor, made a valiant effort to obey. I’d almost finished his final bandage change. The outside layer was lime-green vet wrap, and in about a minute I’d be done if my handsome patient would stop wiggling around. Keanu had cut his paw from catapulting himself in the air after a Frisbee; on descent, the athletic dog landed on a sharp wire fence but kept the disc firmly in his mouth.
Thanks to quick action by my staff at the Oak Falls Animal Hospital, the cut pad had healed nicely, but keeping a foot bandage dry in two feet of snow in New York’s Hudson Valley presented a challenge.
“Okay, good-looking. We’re done.” With that, the dog stood up on the stainless steel table and looked around the treatment room. A bank of cages lined the far wall, punctuated by IV stands and infusion pumps. Most of our Christmas decorations were gone, but someone had left a card depicting Santa Claus as a water buffalo taped to the wall. Above the oxygen cage, perched on the highest point, sat our hospital cat, Mr. Katt, looking down in supreme feline disdain. A stealthy ninja, he sometimes jumped on our shoulders from on high with no warning.
My veterinary tech, Mari, waterproofed our work with some plastic wrap while I kept our star distracted.
“Ready?” I asked her.
“Ready, Doc,” she replied.
The two of us lifted Keanu in our arms and gently placed him on the treatment room floor. We both received more doggie kisses for our work.
His thick tail kept whacking me in the knees as I walked him back to reception. As soon as he saw his family, the wags reached a crescendo. That tail felt like someone playing a drum solo on my legs.
The happy family reunion in our reception area quickly turned into chaos. Keanu jumped up on everyone, acting as though he hadn’t seen them in years, instead of a mere twenty minutes. Trying to be heard above the ten-year-old twin boys’ enthusiastic chatter, I reminded the adults to take the plastic covering off as soon as they got home, and to keep this new bandage clean and dry. Since dogs love to lick, Keanu had several types of anti-licking collars at home to wear, from stiff plastic to sturdy fabric.
“And no Frisbee playing until he’s completely healed,” I yelled as they walked out the door. “Promise?” At every bandage change I said the same thing, at the same time.
“Promise. Thanks, Dr. Kate. Happy almost New Year.” We watched as the family of four piled into their SUV parked in front of our entrance, the mischievous twins sliding over to make room in the back for Keanu. Before the door slammed shut, I saw one of the boys hand the shiny black dog a bright red Frisbee.
My receptionist, Cindy, started laughing. “We should make up some ‘No Frisbee’ signs for those guys.”
I sank into one of the reception chairs and asked, “Are we done for the morning?”
Mari slumped into the chair opposite me, her brown eyes glazed. “Please tell me we can eat lunch now. It’s twelve thirty-two.”
“Surprise.” Cindy got up from her desk, purse and coat in hand. We watched as she flipped our office sign to CLOSED. Dangling her car keys in the air, she said, “Our next appointment isn’t until two. The answering service is picking up our calls, so you both can relax. I’ve got to get to the bank and shop for some office supplies, but I’ll be back to open up by one thirty.”
The last time we’d had such a long lunch was when one of our house-call clients got murdered.
“Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.” Cindy gave me a look like she’d read my mind. Then with a blazing white cheerleader smile she let herself out the front door, locked us in, and hurried over to her truck. Despite the wind, her hair remained undaunted, as unmoving as a steel helmet, stiff with spray.
We didn’t wait around to watch her leave.
“This feels like I’m on vacation.” Mari laughed as she hurried toward the employee break room to get her food.
“Don’t jinx it,” I said.
With so much extra time, I suggested we eat lunch at my place. It wasn’t a long commute. One of the perks of the job, if you could call it that, was living in the attached converted garage apartment. It consisted of a bedroom alcove, a bathroom, small kitchen, living room, and not much more. With a student loan debt of over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars after graduating from Cornell University School of Veterinary Medicine, not having to pay rent made living in a converted garage more palatable.
My rescue dog, Buddy, barked and twirled with pleasure as we opened the apartment door. He loved company but also knew that Mari sometimes dropped delicious things on the floor that I allowed him to gobble up. Vacuuming up stray food was Buddy’s contribution to housekeeping.
Usually when Mari comes into the apartment she says, “Looking good.” This time she simply shook her head.
“I know. I know.” The last week had been particularly frenzied. Piles of stuff were scattered all over the place. My boyfriend, Luke Gianetti, was finishing up his first semester in law school, living and working near the school, so I had no motivation to tidy up. At least that was my rationale. On the kitchen table, Mari found my list of things to do before he joined me for New Year’s.
While munching on her sandwich, she eyeballed it.
The microwave pinged, signaling my canned soup was ready.
“You’ve got way too much on this list,” she commented between bites.
“Welcome to my life.” When I opened the microwave, I heard my soup bubbling. I’d punched in the wrong number of minutes and turned my tomato bisque into lava.
“No, that’s not what I mean.” She ripped open a bag of chips and started munching. “If your list is too long, it can be discouraging. Professional organizers say you should break your chores up into manageable units.”
“Units?” I also misjudged the temperature of the blue ceramic soup bowl and yelled, “Ouch!” while racing for the kitchen table.
Mari noticed my dilemma but stayed focused on her advice. “Yes, units. That’s what they call them, Kate. Like a math problem, I suppose.”
“Okay.” I blew on my soup a few times before trying it once more. “How do you know all this?”
She held a finger up to indicate a full mouth.
Seeing her occupied, I stole a couple of chips.
“Well, my sister-in-law, Barbara, signed up for this lecture series on home organization at the community center. I’m going with her tonight.” Her dark eyebrows arched as she turned and asked, “Want to join us?”
I did a slow pan around the room. Stacks of stuff were everywhere, multiple single socks lay scattered on the floor in no discernable pattern, and dirty clothes draped over the furniture. After clearing my throat, I managed a sarcastic “You think I need to?”
“Hey, I’ve got a roomie to help me. You’re all by yourself, plus half the time you work on the weekends, what with treatments and emergencies. I’m surprised it looks this good in here.”
“Thanks.” Mari always had my back. “I have to admit I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately.”
