Last But Not Leashed, page 4
While I was trying to read the book titles on her bookcase, Mari came back in, the cat carrier hidden behind her back. “Not much of a history, except she’s not eating. He said Babykins preferred his wife, but the lack of appetite started the day before the murder. He also thinks she’s vomited a few times.”
“Got it. We’ll sort it out at the hospital.” Uncharacteristically for a cat, Babykins didn’t protest getting into the carrier.
As we prepared to leave, Mari asked, “What’s your impression of Glenn?”
“I didn’t have any chance to form an impression.” Bending down, I checked the cage lock and the bolts that held the carrier in place to make sure they were secure. “Except that he’s a secret slob.”
My technician had a pensive look on her face. “You know what I think of Glenn? He’s extremely talkative.”
“Chief Garcia will like that.”
She opened the office door. “I don’t think so. His thoughts jump from topic to topic for no reason. During my questions about his cat, I had to keep stopping him from going off on tangents. Maybe it’s the shock of losing his wife?”
“Maybe.”
We walked down the hallway, Mari leading the way, the thick carpet muffling our footsteps. When we approached the living room, I heard Glenn speaking loudly on his cell phone to someone. Mari gestured me to stop and raised a finger to her lips.
“Yes,” Glenn said. “Yes, you heard me right. I said I’m happy that bitch is dead.”
“Guess he’s not as shocked as you think,” I whispered to Mari as we tiptoed back down the hallway.
Chapter Seven
On the way back to the animal hospital, Babykins meowed a medley of her top hits.
“Should we bother to tell the chief what Glenn Overmann said?” Mari reached behind her to try to comfort and quiet the pretty Abyssinian cat. “He could be referring to some other dead bitch.”
“Right.” My sarcasm level rated a ten out of ten.
“Okay. I’ll tell Cindy, and she can mention it to the chief and ask if he needs to talk to us.”
“A little convoluted, don’t you think?” The slippery road demanded my attention as the light faded.
Seemingly happy about her scheme, she continued. “And since I was closest to him, I should be the one who reports it. You’re only the backup witness.”
“This isn’t Law & Order, you know.”
A truck zipped past us, going at least fifteen miles over the speed limit. I’d hate to be nearby when he stepped on his brakes—spinouts being pretty common on these icy roads. Black ice, the kind that blended into the road, made me a believer of steady and slow.
After pulling safely into our parking lot, I said a silent thanks to Pinky. Once again, the parking lot had been plowed and sanded. He’d credited us with saving his dog’s life, and ever since he’d tried to make it up to us—and to me in particular. Thanks to his dedication and close proximity, our clients and staff only needed to worry about the roads leading to the hospital.
“Long day,” I said after turning off the truck. The cabin smelled like potato chips and cat. My head ached and my eyes felt itchy. The level of concentration needed to safely drive in icy conditions was surprising and tiring.
Mari brought Babykins and the laptop into the treatment room while I followed with my backpack and the rest of our gear. Once inside I asked, “Can you set her up for a complete blood panel with enzymes? And let’s hang a cage card that says ‘save urine, monitor appetite, note any vomiting, and weigh daily.’” I stuck my finger through the bars of the cage and scratched her chin.
“Will do.”
The sound of Cindy’s footsteps came down the hallway, but I wasn’t ready to discuss our afternoon yet. “I’m going to zip into the office and check pending lab results and client email. I’ll be right back.” I made it to my office in time for a few moments of quiet. A cold water bottle from the mini-fridge felt wonderful pressed against my eyes. Knowing you can get dehydrated in winter, I twisted the top off and took a drink.
Feeling better, I scrolled through my emails and noticed a message from Glenn Overmann. It posted twenty-five minutes ago, while we were still in the truck coming back from his place.
Once I started reading, I frowned, not sure why Glenn had sent such a bizarre email. After mentioning that Babykins might be traumatized because he and his wife were fighting so loudly, he stated that Sookie had ordered him out of her study in front of the cat. He was certain their behavior frightened the kitty. He then freely confessed to getting drunk and throwing his wife’s favorite vase against a wall, and the vase shattering all over the floor. His question—could Babykins have eaten glass from the broken vase after he passed out?
My quick and brief reply said it was highly unlikely, but I’d take an X-ray. Glass fragments are radiopaque and can easily be visualized in a standard X-ray. Since anything is possible, we’d know soon enough, but most cats are particular about their food. I doubted one would gobble up glass. There are those rare felines who get hung up on sucking fuzzy blankets, nibbling plastic bags, munching underwear, or eating anything that has a food or funky smell on it. Veterinary treatment ranged from behavior modification all the way up to kitty Prozac.
I texted Cindy and told her to add an X-ray to Babykins’s workup and to present an estimate to the owner. But the more I thought about it, the odder Glenn’s email seemed—almost as though he wanted to be a suspect in Sookie’s murder. Why admit to a stranger that you had anger management issues and a drinking problem? Most people want to be seen in the best light, but Glenn wasn’t one of them—quite the opposite.
And it felt deliberate.
It turns out that Glenn’s email went first to the Oak Falls Animal Hospital general mailbox. Cindy had read it before me.
A quick knock on the office door and Cindy stuck her head in. “Did you read his email?”
“Unfortunately.” It was interesting that she didn’t have to clarify who sent the email. We both knew Glenn was a problem.
She stood in the doorway and tapped a foot. “This guy is either incredibly dumb, or he’s got a secret agenda,” my receptionist said.
That about covered the entire spectrum of guilt or innocence. “I hate to dump another problem on you, but should we tell the chief?”
“Should we? No idea. I’ll call him around lunchtime—off the record for now. But I suggest we only contact Glenn Overmann by email or text. Paper trail, paper trail.”
“Agreed. Can you deal with him? Luke and I are planning on enjoying his winter break from school, and I’d prefer no distractions.”
“Ah, young love,” my friend commented. “I remember it well.”
Our patient, Babykins, did not swallow glass. Instead, her tests indicated a mild case of pancreatitis. She’d have to be medicated and watched carefully for the next few days. Glenn’s reply to my news was to ask if we could please board his kitty in the hospital for treatment. Funeral arrangements were occupying his time, as relatives, students, and friends made plans to attend. People would be in and out of the house at all hours. Babykins, in his opinion, would be better off under our care.
I enthusiastically agreed.
After inserting an intravenous line and administering her medication, Mari and I gave Babykins extra attention, coaxing her to purr and to eat a tiny bit of her special diet.
After the staff left, I made my way through the quiet building, checking door and window locks, and closing the blinds. With the hospital alarm set, I opened the connecting door into my apartment.
Once inside I knew I couldn’t put a deep cleaning off any longer. I was determined to whip my surroundings into shape for the New Year. First, I changed out of my uniform and into my sweats. You have to be comfortable when you clean. Next, I gathered all my dirty clothes together, sorted them, and started a wash. Taking a hint from Sookie, I divided my place into Four Zones—kitchen, bedroom alcove, living room, and bathroom. I had to admit—it felt a lot less intimidating. Since my to-do list still lay on the kitchen table, that was the logical place to start.
With spray cleaner held high, I squirted one spritz into the sink before Cindy called.
“Want to meet at Judy’s? I’ve got some juicy tidbits to share, but not on the phone. In person, only.” She muffled the receiver for a bit then added, “Come on. You deserve a treat.”
Let’s see. Stay here and clean, or eat a homemade brownie with hot fudge and whipped cream while listening to gossip. Tough decision.
“Be there in fifteen minutes,” I told her.
True to my word, fifteen minutes later I walked into Judy’s Café, a hangout for locals as well as weekenders. The clapboard-clad building had been in her family for generations, right on picturesque Main Street of Oak Falls. Judy’s menu relied on homemade soups and sandwiches, as well as a mean bowl of chili. Depending on her mood, she sometimes baked scones and muffins. I was a fan of her brownie special. Two brownies, drizzled in hot fudge, topped with whipped cream under a shower of bananas or strawberries—or if you asked nicely, both—to share, of course.
The restaurant’s square oak tables were comfortably worn from years of use. In the back near the restroom, a community bulletin board advertised everything from milking goats to reading individual auras with photographs. Cindy caught my eye and waved from a table in the far corner. As I passed by the register, Judy asked me if I wanted the brownie special because she had only one serving left. I gave her a thumbs-up.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I texted Mari to join us,” Cindy said, a cup of tea in front of her.
“Good idea.” Bearing that in mind, I took the chair closest to the wall, so Mari didn’t have to climb over me. “Did you order?”
“You’re looking at it.” I only saw a cup of tea.
“Ahh, come on, Cindy. Order some carbs, please?”
As if on cue Judy, the owner, arrived with my order. The sliced strawberries made the high caloric delight appear deceptively innocent.
Right behind Judy, Mari made her way to our table.
“Hey, Mari,” Judy said. “Didn’t realize you’d be joining them. Dr. Kate got the last special. Want an extra plate and fork?”
“Perfect. And a glass of milk, please.”
My technician practically vibrated with excitement. In fact, she immediately whispered, “This had better be good.”
Cindy took a good long look around the café, making sure we couldn’t be overheard. She leaned in and said, “Unofficially speaking, the chief might want to take statements from you both and might ask for a copy of that email Glenn sent you, although that request is a little iffy.” She emphasized each “might.”
“Okay.” So far, I’d heard nothing new.
A knowing smile promised more. “Glenn and Sookie separated about one week ago, but no formal papers were signed. They also didn’t update their wills. Glenn implied to his estate lawyer they were talking about reconciling, which is a pile of horse poop according to Sookie’s assistant, Elaine.” Cindy took a slow sip from her tea. “With Sookie’s death, Glenn inherits everything—the home, the auction house and its assets, her business bank accounts, the corporation, everything.”
“Big motive for Glenn to kill her.” I used the break in the conversation as a cue to stop eating, hoping Mari would finish our shared plate.
“Yeah, but here’s where it gets interesting. Elaine got a call from one of her auction house employees. He’d been scheduled to deliver a living room table and chairs. Everything was paid for. Sookie always had him buy gas for the delivery truck with a business debit card, but when he tried to use it, the card was denied.”
Mari dug into the brownie again, an underwhelmed expression on her face. “So? Don’t credit and debit cards automatically get canceled when someone dies?”
“Nope.” Again, that knowing smile appeared on our receptionist’s face.
“Which means…what?” I asked Cindy.
“Sookie withdrew all the money from the personal, joint, and business bank accounts. She left a five-dollar balance in each. The chief suspects the victim was fixing to disappear.”
“Wow. Did her husband know?” Mari put her fork down into a wisp of whipped cream.
“He does now. She took everything—all the savings and investment accounts, plus she maxed out the cash advances on their credit cards. For all intents and purposes, Glenn is now broke. He’s got to hire a forensic accountant to trace his own money.”
“Why did she do it?” I asked my friends.
Our guesses ranged from spite to running away with a secret lover to the Witness Protection Program. One thing I was sure of. Sookie was an organizer, attentive to details.
There must have been a plan.
Until someone slammed a snow shovel into her head.
Chapter Eight
After returning from the meeting at Judy’s, I was tempted to postpone my chores again, but restless with questions and fueled by chocolate, I went back to cleaning.
While scrubbing the glass stovetop, I recalled the day I moved in.
I’d quit my stressful job on Long Island and desperately needed a change. An unusual veterinary help-wanted ad caught my eye. On an impulse Doc Anderson, the owner of Oak Falls Animal Hospital, who rarely took a vacation, had decided to accompany his only sister, a cancer survivor, on a world cruise. The decision meant he needed someone to run his practice for a year. After speaking on the phone and checking my references, he hired me to start in one week.
Being from New York, I knew the Hudson Valley area but had never been to Oak Falls. One thing that clinched the deal was the use of a free apartment. With no rent to deal with, I could accelerate my student loan payments. So, sight unseen, I accepted.
After his wife’s death, Doc Anderson had renovated the animal hospital garage to create a studio apartment. It had a haphazard feel to it. Nothing disguised the fact I lived in an old garage.
It was a short one-year commitment. After the world cruise ended, Doc Anderson would be back, and I’d be out.
Over the months of living here I’d hung a few paintings, bought some comfy blankets and sheets, but the place still screamed “temporary housing!” My budget couldn’t stretch to do more. Student debt for vet school hovered around one hundred fifty thousand, and that payment alone took a chunk out of my paycheck.
Once my year was finished, who knew? Luke’s family ran a busy diner here in Oak Falls. Most of his close family lived nearby, with one sister out in LA. My Gramps lived in Brooklyn, while my father and stepmother owned a house on Long Island. When law school ended and Luke passed his bar exam, we’d have some tough decisions to make. I wanted to stay somewhere in New York, close to Gramps.
Would we plan that future as a couple or go our separate ways?
The approaching New Year forced me to think about the future, whether I wanted to or not.
Two hours later, I’d completed cleaning Zone 1. The kitchen gleamed and the pantry made sense. I poured myself a cold glass of white wine to celebrate and sank into the sofa. After one sip, my cell phone rang.
“It’s nine thirty. Are you sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine?”
“Luke. That’s the kind of thing crazy stalkers say.” A part of me felt annoyed that I was so predictable. Of course, he was right on all accounts.
He laughed. “You work hard. I work hard. Tonight, nine thirty is our private happy hour. No dress codes allowed.”
Luke chatted away, bringing me up-to-date on his roommate Alden’s invitation to spend a few days in NYC law libraries.
“Is your roommate with you?” The two law students had a habit of studying late into the night.
“Nope.” Luke made a melodramatic sigh. “I’m jealous. He’s with his girlfriend.”
I shifted my weight and pulled the blanket up higher. “You’ll see me soon.”
“Can’t wait. Good news is I’ve almost finished my research. The paper’s still far from written, but now I’ve got a lot more to work with.” He lowered his voice. “I didn’t realize how wealthy Alden’s family is. We’re staying at his parents’ building on Park Avenue. Lucky guy, his grandfather’s a retired judge, and his mother made partner in a high-powered law firm.”
“He’s only lucky if he needs legal help,” I joked. Personally, I thought the attention and love given by a grandparent to a grandchild were more important than what they did for a living. My Gramps was a perfect example.
“Are you kidding me? A judge in the family can smooth your way.”
Jumping to another subject, we began planning a day trip, and then I mentioned cleaning the kitchen.
“Cleaning a kitchen is an endless job. All through high school I peeled potatoes, cut vegetables, and bused dirty plates at the diner.” Luke made a low groan. “Everyone in my family ended up scrubbing that kitchen at one time or another. I’m finished with that crap for good.”
He sounded as if he meant it.
“Well, I’m cleaning the whole apartment in a systematic way.” Buddy nudged my knee. I reached down to pet him.
“Hmm,” he said. “Is this the influence of that organizing class?”
Trying to compose my answer, I took another sip of wine. “Yes, I suppose so. I did use one of her suggestions, and it worked quite well.”
Then came the question I dreaded.
“What ever happened with that investigation into her death?”
For the sake of romantic bliss, I didn’t want to talk murder. However, since Luke used to work for Chief Garcia as a police officer, I figured he’d quickly find out. “It was murder,” I admitted. “The prime suspect is her husband.” I left out the “of course” since I didn’t want to appear cynical.
