Last But Not Leashed, page 3
No doubt Sookie Overmann agreed with her.
***
The only visible part of my first patient was his rear end. Somehow the fuzzy little poodle-mix dog wedged his body under his owner’s arm in an attempt to become invisible.
“White coat syndrome,” I joked. “You can bark, but you cannot hide.”
The owner smiled at me. She looked familiar.
“I’m glad you’ve got your sense of humor back, Dr. Kate, after last night,” she said.
No wonder her face seemed familiar. Now I realized she’d been one of the clients who spoke to me after the lecture. This was going to be tricky.
“Mrs. Kotvik. Nice to see you again.”
Mari stood in front of her, trying to figure out how to extricate the patient. “Grover is hiding, I see.”
“It’s okay. Let him think he’s invisible for a while.”
The owner gave her dog’s rump a soothing pat. “It’s the other end that’s the problem. Loose tooth.”
“Let’s see. Your pet is twelve, so a loose tooth is not out of the ordinary. How long has it been like that?” The last time Grover had been seen at the hospital was three years earlier. At that exam, Doc Anderson noted severe dental disease and a mild heart murmur.
“Oh, it’s been loose for about two weeks. I keep waiting for it to fall out but…”
“Well, let’s take a look, shall we?” After a few false starts we slid Grover out of his hiding spot and placed him onto the stainless steel exam table.
Mrs. Kotvik chatted away while I tried to examine her dog’s mouth. Sure enough, dangling and moving with each pant of his tongue, the upper right canine tooth held on against all odds. Grover didn’t help by growling and refusing to let me open his mouth. After I listened to his heart, I graded the murmur a three out of six.
I removed my stethoscope and caught the end of a sentence.
“…her assistant finish the lectures?”
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I said I wonder if Sookie’s assistant will finish out the lectures?” Mrs. Kotvik tilted her head, and darned if the dog didn’t do the same thing.
Mari handed me a new exam glove. “Sookie had an assistant?”
“Certainly. Her name’s Elaine Armstet. She wasn’t there last night, or at least not the whole night.”
Curiosity won and I asked, “Was Elaine supposed to stay for the whole lecture?”
“Normally she does,” my client answered. “At least she did the last two times. Generally, she helped set up everything—the mike, the display table—then she would take everything down after it was over. The drawer lecture was the third in the series. I was a little disappointed Sookie didn’t show us any samples, but she did give us several websites to go to.”
On hearing her name again, my mouth dried up.
“Strange to think she’s gone, just like that.” Mrs. Kotvik snapped her fingers.
In the snap of a finger.
Unfortunately, I knew how fragile life could be. My mom and brother went out for ice cream when I was fifteen and, thanks to a drunk driver, never came back.
Mari ended our awkward silence. “Dr. Kate, do you want me to take Grover to the treatment area?”
“Is that all right with you, Mrs. Kotvik? We need to take that tooth out before he swallows it.”
“Will it hurt?” Her lips puckered up in a grimace.
I shook my head. “I doubt it. But I’d also like to take some blood samples since his heart murmur has gotten significantly worse. The infection in his gums might have entered the bloodstream and affected the heart valves.”
“Whatever you say, Dr. Kate.” Mrs. Kotvik sat down in the exam room chair and extracted her cell phone.
Mari carried Grover, following me out of the exam room and across the hallway to the treatment area. The little dog knew something was up.
“Weird that this client was at the organizing lecture last night, don’t you think?”
I thought so, too, but kept that to myself.
Grover sat on the treatment table and shot us a pathetic look. It didn’t work. We could see the tooth dangling from a thin piece of tissue.
“What’s holding that tooth in there?” Mari asked.
“Sheer stubbornness.”
Grover stayed surprisingly cooperative through the blood draw and even gave us a voluntary urine sample, just missing Mari’s sleeve. However, he jerked his neck away whenever I tried to open his mouth. I shone my penlight and with the help of a tongue depressor got a good look at the loose tooth and his gums.
“Okay,” I told Mari, “let me get some gauze. There shouldn’t be much bleeding. And don’t worry about being bitten. That’s the only tooth this guy has left.”
Mari distracted him while I gave a sharp tug. It was over in two seconds.
“Soft food for you, dude, but I suspect that’s what you’ve been eating most of your life.” The gum around that remaining tooth was swollen and red from long-standing gingival disease.
When I returned Grover to his owner I discussed the relationship between dental disease and heart disease. “I’m sending him home with some antibiotics to treat that gingivitis,” I told her, “and Cindy will give you the name of a veterinary cardiologist. I strongly recommend an echocardiogram for this guy. As far as his lab tests go, we should have his results tomorrow or the day after. Cindy will contact you.”
Happy to be leaving, Grover started yowling a doggy song.
As we walked to the reception area, Mrs. Kotvik tried to grill me about Sookie’s murder. Mari countered by wondering what the community center would do now.
“I just saw an email regarding that,” our client said. She stuffed Grover into a pet carryall and plopped him on Cindy’s desk. “They’ve asked Elaine, Sookie’s assistant, to finish the course, but she hasn’t decided. There are three more weeks left in the series.”
“I suppose that makes sense. It must be a moneymaker for them.” Grover started sniffing a vase of flowers on Cindy’s desk. Mari intervened before he could flip it over.
Mrs. Kotvik rummaged around in her purse for her credit card while Cindy waited. She continued chatting. “I hope Elaine does step into Sookie’s shoes. Next week is organizing your closets.”
***
After Grover’s owner left, I asked Cindy when she’d made her appointment.
“Two days ago, I think. I’ve been trying to get her to come in for a while, but she swore that tooth would fall out on its own.”
“So. Not this morning.”
“Nope.”
“Good.” The idea of people booking veterinary exams with me simply to talk about Sookie’s death gave me the creeps.
After finishing morning appointments, I sat at the computer in my office brushing some potato chip crumbs off the keyboard. As usual I was multitasking, eating lunch while catching up with client emails.
Cindy poked her head in my office doorway, opened her mouth to say something, paused, then thought better of it.
“I’ll clean up the crumbs.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” she said, not meaning it at all. “I wanted to tell you I snuck an extra house call in this afternoon. Mari’s got them arranged by location, so there isn’t that much extra driving time. Sorry.”
With my left hand I fished a random chip off my lap. “No problem. What is it?”
“A cat that’s not eating.”
“For how long?”
“Two days. The owner locked the cat in a home office, but he can’t catch it to bring it in.”
“All right. Make sure we have an extra cat carrier in the truck, in case we have to bring the kitty into the hospital.” Our office always tried to make accommodations for our clients, especially the elderly and anyone in a bind. We’d even been known to drop off medicine for owners stuck at home.
Cindy lingered then added, “That appointment I squeezed in is at Sookie Overmann’s place. The husband, Glenn, called an hour ago, frantic.”
Discovering his wife’s body then going to his house the next day?
“I don’t know about this, Cindy. Are you sure he wants me to come over?” First Mrs. Kotvik, now Glenn Overmann. Two people connected with last night. A coincidence? I wasn’t a fan.
“So…what do you want to do? The cat is sick.”
My watch alarm beeped to remind me lunch was over. “Keep them on the schedule. Encourage him to try to get the cat in a carrier and come into the office if he can.”
“Okay.” She turned to go, already moving on to the next problem to solve.
“Wait. Do you know if Mari is ready?”
“She said in about half an hour. I’ll text you when the truck is loaded.”
As Cindy walked away, Mr. Katt swished his fluffy body past her legs. Seeing my lap was empty, he took that as an invitation. He enjoys potato chips, almost as much as I do.
With an effortless leap he settled himself comfortably in place. He looked up at me with guileless cat eyes. “Go ahead,” I told him.
While Mr. Katt meticulously cleaned up my crunchy crumbs with his pink tongue, I decided to google Sookie Overmann.
Like most entrepreneurs, Sookie had a professional-looking website, linked to her Facebook page. I clicked on the bio, skipping over the early stuff and concentrating on recent postings. What I learned surprised me. Besides the organizing work, she also ran a successful estate and auction firm and had an MBA from NYU, and tens of thousands of followers. Other links led to some short YouTube cleaning videos and an active Instagram account.
After a brief look, I backtracked and clicked on her photos.
They were labeled and organized, and very impressive. Along with a gorgeous picture of a young Sookie holding up a diploma were several dramatic wedding photos in which her blandly handsome husband, Glenn, played a supporting role. Most often seen in profile, his chin jutted out at a movie star angle. At the top of the page grouped under “portfolio” were multiple photos of shelves, pantries, and closets, etc., plus a blatant ad for her organizing and consultation services.
***
The rest of the day, spent doing house calls, passed quickly. Several cases needed follow-ups, which I detailed in my notes to Cindy, who received a slew of texts from me with details on callbacks for our patients. However, being busy didn’t lessen my dread of our last appointment—visiting Sookie Overmann’s home. It felt creepy, like I was standing on her grave.
“Do you think her house will be really, really organized?” my technician asked.
“Don’t be morbid,” I scolded.
“Just curious.” Sensing no response from me, she went back to our hospital laptop screen.
We rode in silence for a while. Snowplows had been out all night, sanding the roads in anticipation of freezing temperatures. The winter sun started to set, which meant we’d be driving back in the dark.
“Mari, I’m really not sure we should do this,” I confessed. “What would Chief Garcia say if he knew? This has to be some kind of conflict-of-interest sort of thing.”
Busy at the computer, she didn’t look up. “You won’t be alone—you’ve got me. This is a professional call, and you’re the only house-call veterinarian in about fifty miles.”
Of course she was right. It was all about the sick cat that the husband couldn’t catch. But I also entertained the strong possibility that Glenn was lying to us.
Chapter Six
I slowed down as the traffic light at the crossroads turned yellow. When I applied the brakes, the back tires slipped a bit. The GPS said we’d be at the Overmanns’ place in ten minutes.
“Icy,” Mari muttered.
“The temperature is dropping. I hope this won’t take too long.”
Mari glanced out the passenger side window at the banks of snow lining the shoulder.
“Well, at least promise me you won’t say anything about his wife’s murder.”
This time my technician looked up and grinned. “I promise.”
We both felt the tires slip once again when I gently applied the gas. “The driving is getting a little iffy.”
“I just thought of something,” Mari said, closing the laptop. “I bet Glenn Overmann is Chief Garcia’s number one suspect. You know what they say—if it isn’t the butler, it’s the husband.”
We were headed to an area of traditional farmhouses, many with orchards and barns. But unlike most of their neighbors, the Overmanns lived in a new home in a small modern complex set back from the road.
“I remember when the developer petitioned the town to build these,” Mari told me. “The property is just outside Oak Falls town limits; otherwise they wouldn’t have gotten approval. Our historical society is still annoyed.”
We turned in at the sign. Maplewood Estates.
“This used to be a cow pasture back when I was a kid. Here—make a left.” Mari checked our GPS map for the address. “It’s the third one down. Ninety-four Woodland Drive. The kitty’s name is Babykins.” Mari texted the client to say we had arrived.
Dark clouds had been rolling in all afternoon, promising more snow. We parked the truck directly in front of the bluestone walkway. I slipped my stethoscope off the rearview mirror and picked up my medical supplies bag.
“Ready?”
“Yep.” As soon as we got out of the truck, we noticed the dropping temperature.
“Hope we don’t get sleet.” Two rows of juniper hedges lined the walkway, their gray-green spiky branches rising out of the snow.
“You’re from the animal hospital?” Glenn opened the door wide for us, and Mari and I walked into bedlam.
In his wedding photos, Glenn appeared clean-cut, nice-looking, and perfectly groomed. The man in front of us sported a couple of days’ beard stubble that hid his chin and upper lip and a forest of uncombed hair. I didn’t recognize this version of Glenn.
He led us past the living room. Noticing our astonished looks, Glenn said, “Sorry about the mess. My wife died two days ago.”
Mari stared at me. We said, “Sorry for your loss” at the same time.
“This must be a terrible time for you,” I added.
“Terrible. I can’t concentrate. We were divorcing, you know, but still living together until we sold the house. Sookie divided up the place into zones. I got the living room and half of the dining room. She got the bedroom and the office. We shared the kitchen.”
Which explained a lot. Rumpled sheets and blankets took up most of the living room sofa. A portable rolling clothes hanger, the kind you usually see in laundry rooms, held men’s clothes. Some pants had slipped off hangers and fallen on the floor. An empty pizza box sat on the coffee table, the last remaining piece stuck in a circle of grease. The room smelled like pizza and body odor.
Though astonished that he revealed so much personal information to strangers, I kept my expression neutral.
Mari got right to the point. “Can we see the cat? Cindy, our receptionist, said Babykins wasn’t eating.”
“That’s right, Doctor. Can you follow me?” He set out ahead of us down a wide carpeted hallway. The walls, painted a creamy white, complemented the silvery carpet. Muted silver light fixtures mounted flush to the ceiling marched in a straight line.
“I’m the veterinary technician. This is the doctor.” Mari gestured toward me, but by then Glenn Overmann had turned away.
We stopped in front of a room with a professional sign mounted on the door. Sookie’s logo, a pair of interlocking Os, said OVERMANN ORGANIZING.
“Babykins is in there. Do you mind if I don’t come in? It’s too stressful right now.” Before waiting for an answer, he retreated back to the living room.
“Time to play my favorite game. Find the cat.”
“I think Glenn still thinks I’m the doctor,” Mari said.
“No matter. Let’s get this done. You go in first; then I’ll slip in fast behind you and close the door.” I checked to make sure I had my stethoscope and placed the cat carrier out of sight in the hallway. Nothing spooks most kitties like seeing the cat carrier.
On the count of three, we snuck inside.
Any doubts about Sookie Overmann teaching organizational skills vanished when we turned on the light. This office was efficient yet comfortable, her desktop blissfully uncluttered by tangles of wires and wasted space. A comfortable chair and soft indirect lighting defined a more casual area, while the many open and closed shelves made putting things back in their place seem easy.
“Wow.” Mari seemed as shocked as I was.
Then I saw the built-in cat bed and feeding station. This woman had been good at her job. But if cleanliness is next to godliness, I needed an exorcism.
“Kate,” Mari whispered, “there’s Babykins. Look in the cat bed. She’s hunkered down under the shelf.”
In a slow and quiet movement, I turned my head and saw Babykins trying to blend with her bed like a chameleon. It proved impossible since her pillow was hot pink.
“Let’s sit and talk for a moment. Get her used to us.”
I got down to the cat’s level. She didn’t move.
“I don’t think she’s going anywhere.” Without a warning, I plucked Babykins out of her safety spot. When I lifted the skin up behind her neck, it didn’t slide back down, a clear sign of dehydration.
“Mari, can you go speak to Glenn and get a bit more history for me?” I asked. “And tell Mr. Overmann I recommend admitting his cat for a workup.”
“Will do.” Mari snuck out while I continued my exam. Babykins was an elegant Abyssinian cat with a beautiful spotted coat. For this normally friendly and active breed, she acted far too quiet.
While waiting for Mari to return, Babykins securely in my lap, I took a closer look around. On one wall hung multiple framed diplomas. One of those mock Time magazine covers in a similar frame sat on her desk. A pair of French doors led to an outside bluestone patio with its own gate. It made me wonder if Sookie saw clients here in her home, using this private side entrance.
