Last But Not Leashed, page 5
“Are your clients telling you who they think did it?”
“Of course. But the husband…” How could I explain this to Luke? “Glenn Overmann has revealed details of his marriage, personal details—like fighting, throwing things, getting drunk, committing acts of domestic violence in the past. And he did it in writing!”
No reply on the other end of the call.
“Luke?”
After a moment I heard, “Sorry. I was answering a text.”
“Did you hear what I said?” I felt myself transferring my frustration onto Luke.
“Calm down,” he answered in a soothing voice. “What does this have to do with us? Chief Garcia will arrest someone soon, I’m sure.”
If there’s anything I hate, it’s someone telling me to calm down. This wasn’t the romantic phone call I’d envisioned. With a final sip I finished my wine. Luke talked on about himself and more law school experiences, and I listened.
Five minutes after Luke hung up, my phone rang again.
“Glenn’s got an alibi. Do you believe it?” Mari sounded annoyed. She thought he had no class dissing his wife so soon after her death. Her opinion? He killed Sookie.
As I listened, I began putting my cleaning supplies away in their newly designated spots. A noisy dog yawn interrupted our conversation. Time to walk Buddy and go to sleep.
“Mari. That info you told me about Glenn Overmann having an alibi. That came from a reputable source, right?”
“Of course. I heard it from the cashier at Circle K.”
Much as I appreciated the collective wisdom of our local Circle K, I put that factoid on hold. What I couldn’t get out of my head was the awkwardness between Luke and me. A disconnect. For the first time, I realized we were on two different tracks, at two very different points in our lives.
Being apart only emphasized it.
I curled up on the sofa and wrapped myself in a plaid blanket. My life from fifteen on had been difficult. After losing my mom and brother, my surgeon father immediately started a second family. Every adolescent step I took was fueled with anger toward him until I went to veterinary school. Once I began my classes, I never looked back.
It was as though I’d gone through a long, dark tunnel and had come out on the other side. I loved my job. For the first time I had begun to put down roots, in Oak Falls.
People recognized me. I looked forward to settling down, buying a home, maybe starting a family. Luke, on the other hand, had settled down at eighteen with his high school sweetheart, Dina, and become an Oak Falls police officer to make ends meet. He’d been engaged and dumped, then reengaged to Dina over the years, all the while living in Oak Falls. His life seemed settled. But he’d wanted more. Things started to change with his acceptance into a prestigious law school. He began to hang out with his roommate, Alden, and a gang of trust-fund kids. The fellow who never wanted to leave his hometown talked about moving to Chicago, or getting a job with a big-time law firm in California, or maybe clerking for a Supreme Court justice. He’d reinvented himself, and he liked it.
I also had a feeling Luke still had a few wild oats to sow.
And I wasn’t going to be anybody’s oat.
Chapter Nine
Overnight, the wind must have kicked up, because a branch or something landed briefly on the roof, then skittered away. Strong gusts of wind were a fact of life in the Hudson Valley. My watchdog, Buddy, lay snoozing in his dog bed, so I threw the covers over my head and went back to sleep.
Then, for the second time something woke me up. How long had I been asleep? As that foggy feeling left, I realized Buddy was awake and barking, staring at the front door. My clock read five in the morning. Still a little groggy, I got out of bed and looked out the window. The motion detector light above the door glowed in the dark. It illuminated the walkway and the thermometer, which registered thirty-one degrees Fahrenheit. Except for the hospital truck, the parking lot stood empty and quiet. There’d been no new snow. What had tripped the spotlight sensor?
At my feet Buddy danced around, giving quick little yips, eager for his morning walk. I didn’t share his enthusiasm. My alarm was set for six thirty. The universe owed me one hour and thirty minutes of additional sleep. I let the curtain drop, hoping my dog would forget about everything and go back to sleep.
Buddy stared up at me, brown eyes alert, and barked again. If I thought I could get away with telling him to wait, he made it clear by his body language that this wasn’t an option.
I pulled boots and a jacket over my pajamas. Still half asleep, I slipped Buddy’s paws into his new snow booties, ribbed on the bottom for better traction. He hated getting his feet wet.
When I stepped outside, icy air frosted my nose and lungs. With his muzzle down to the ground, Buddy cheerfully trotted over to his favorite maple tree in the fenced side yard and proceeded to do his business. Usually he scurries back inside, but this morning he sniffed the air, gave me a worried look, and whined.
“Let’s go,” I told him, turning my back to open the door. To my astonishment, he took off across the empty parking lot toward the dumpster and stopped near the shrubbery on the property line.
“Come on, Buddy,” I called. “It’s freezing out.”
His head turned toward my voice, but the rescued King Charles spaniel stood his ground. Since he was normally a very obedient dog, this behavior meant something was up. Periodically he’d been distracted by a squirrel, or a dead bird, or a meet-up with one of the neighborhood cats. But I couldn’t imagine anything or anyone hanging around in this weather. As I moved closer to him, I saw a red plaid blanket at the base of the dumpster. Buddy pawed at the ground, whining louder. Flashbacks of finding Sookie’s body in the snow put me on alert.
I hesitated. Cindy said she’d once found the body of an elderly dog, lovingly placed in a cardboard box, near this same dumpster—a bullet wound in the middle of its forehead.
“That’s how some people put their pet to sleep. We’ve got a lot of folks up here who hunt,” she’d explained.
Words failed me. I hoped this wasn’t one of those.
It wasn’t. Inside the blanket lay a dog, barely breathing.
Buddy followed me as I hoisted the dog in my arms and ran back inside my apartment.
“Stay,” I told him, then opened the connecting door to the hospital, turned off the alarm, and hurried into the treatment area. A quick feel of the inside of his mouth told me hypothermia was the first issue. White teeth signaled a young dog. I got out the surgical warming blanket and plugged it in. Unwrapping the old plaid blanket revealed a gray pit bull with multiple cuts and bite wounds on his trunk and legs and belly.
His heart rate was slow but the rhythm steady. When I covered him with the warm blanket, his eyelids moved. Although working by myself, I took the opportunity to pull some blood and inserted a catheter in his front leg—solo skills I mastered while working the late-night shift in a busy emergency clinic.
I hooked him up to a temporary, slow-warmed saline drip until I knew if he had any underlying health issues. His temperature gradually climbed from ninety-seven to an almost normal one hundred degrees. By that time, the clock read five forty-five.
Our in-house lab machines would soon give me a complete blood count as well as kidney and liver functions. Meanwhile, I knew my early-rising tech would be up having breakfast.
“Mari,” I said when she answered her cell after three rings.
“Kate. Everything okay?” Her voice sounded worried, all kinds of horrific things probably going through her mind.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Someone abandoned a dog outside by the dumpster. He’s all chewed up but still alive. I was hoping you might come in a little early so we can finish working him up before appointments start.”
A palpable sigh of relief was followed by “No problem. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
While I waited for preliminary results, I sat down on the floor in front of his cage. “Good boy,” I told him, words most dogs know and respond to. Stroking the short silvery-gray fur on his head, I noted the amateurish cropped ears. Another flutter of his eyelids made me hopeful he would wake up. “Good dog,” I whispered over and over to the pit bull. “Good dog.”
By the time Mari got to the animal hospital, my pit bull had lifted his head up. His temperature had returned to almost normal, and his pupils were responsive. I placed a water bowl and a small amount of canned food in front of him. He gobbled everything up.
Mari came bearing gifts. She walked toward me, two large takeout cups of coffee in her hands. “Thought you could use this,” she said. With a practiced glance, she checked out the dog in the hospital cage. “So this is our mystery patient. Looks better than I thought he would.”
I stood up, my back protesting as I stretched out my shoulders. “You should have seen him earlier. He perked right up, though.”
“How on earth did you find him?”
“Buddy woke me up at five a.m. Someone must have dropped him off right around that time. They were gone by the time we found him.”
“You know you’re still in your pajamas.”
“Totally forgot.” I rubbed my face with my hands. “Can you watch him for a bit? I need a shower and some kind of breakfast.”
“Here you are.” She reached into a brown paper bag on the countertop. “I bought some breakfast sandwiches for us when I picked up the coffee.”
The egg, cheese, and bacon smell made me ravenous. I gave her a high-five. “You’re the best. If he starts to crash, call me. We can do a complete exam when I get back.”
“Okay. I think Mr. Pitt over there wants a taste of my breakfast.” She pointed to the cage and our new patient, who eyed Mari’s food.
“Sure. But only food, no fingers.”
About a half hour later I’d showered, fed Buddy, thrown on a pair of clean scrubs, and slicked my limp hair into a ponytail. Anything else would have to wait. Armed with a tube of lip balm and some sugar-free gum, I hurried back through the connecting door into the hospital.
I found Mari humming to herself as she checked our surgical packs and took out some bandage material.
“You look better,” she told me.
“So does he.” Our mystery patient was sitting up in the cage, fully alert, a bewildered look on his face.
“Let’s get him out and have him walk around.” Mari took a leash from our stash and opened the cage door, while I went to get a leather muzzle, just in case.
She slipped the lead over the dog’s head without any problem. “No collar,” she said. “There was one, though. I can see the imprint on his neck.”
With a little coaxing, the big gray dog got to his feet and gingerly stepped out onto the hospital floor. His head hung down, eyes focused on the floor. Then his body started to quiver.
“Let’s get him up on the table. I want to get a good look at him. But first put that muzzle on. We have no idea what we’re dealing with here.” Safety always came first when handling animals—safety for the animal as well as the handler. I’d had a veterinarian friend lose an ear during an exam when a passive German shepherd mix dog suddenly turned on him.
We both lifted the dog onto the treatment table. Pit bulls are dense dogs, with a lot of weight packed onto their compact bodies. I could feel and see right away this guy was underweight.
“Holy mackerel,” Mari said, getting a good look at the multiple bite wounds. “Did a coyote attack him?”
I stood directly in front of the dog. His light green eyes looked into mine. There was no sign of aggression—only sad acceptance of whatever pain he thought was coming.
“No coyote did this. Only a human could be so cruel.”
Mari’s eyes met mine.
“This guy was used for dogfights.”
With our patient stable, I went into my office and called Dierdra, our contact at the local no-kill shelter.
“Hi, Dr. Kate. What can I do for you this early in the morning?”
I explained what I knew about the pit bull I’d found, complete with an update on his physical description and status.
Dierdra said, “Sorry. You’ve called us at a bad time. Animal control brought us twenty-nine dogs and ten cats confiscated from an animal hoarder last Friday. We’re packed. I’m really sorry.”
Early in my veterinary career I’d dealt with an animal hoarder. She’d meant well but ended up doing more harm than good—to herself and to the animals she tried to help.
“No problem. I can keep him here for now. He’s going to need medical care anyway for his wounds, and close monitoring of his kidney and liver function.”
Another apology from Dierdra was followed by an enthusiastic question. “Wait. Aren’t you a certified foster parent? I remember when you adopted…”
“Buddy?” My King Charles had been a rescue dog from a show breeder. “I’d be happy to foster Mr. Pitt.”
“Mr. Pitt?”
“You know Mari—she’s already given him a name. Now we have a Mr. Pitt and a Mr. Katt. If you want I’ll go on your website and fill out all the forms and a lost-dog search, too.” The shelter was very efficient, trying to make adoption and fostering as simple as possible. All animals’ information, Q & A, and photos were updated regularly.
“Perfect. Anything else you can tell me?”
Unfortunately I could. “I suspect he’s been used in dogfights. Maybe a bait dog.”
“Poor guy. At least he’s in good hands now.”
By the time Cindy arrived, Mari and I were caught up with our lab tests and I had sent emails out to all my pending cases. At this point I was running on multiple cups of coffee. I anticipated taking a nosedive around five thirty, after the last client left.
A sweet meow from Babykins Overmann indicated the Abyssinian cat was much improved. Rubbing on the cage doors, she asked for some loving. I went over and scratched her under the chin.
“Kate,” Cindy sort of whispered to me. “Look at that.”
My gaze followed hers. To my surprise, Mr. Katt sat in front of Mr. Pitt. The big gray dog wagged his tail as he gazed back at our fluffy hospital cat. Mr. Katt was a great judge of dog temperaments. As we watched, our tabby strolled back and forth in front of our new arrival, gradually getting closer, until he rubbed on the front of the cage door. The pit bull stuck out a pink tongue and the two touched noses.
“That’s a good sign,” I told her.
Cindy smiled. “He seems like a lover, not a fighter.”
My eyes took in the massive head covered with scars and scabs. “I agree. He wouldn’t fight. That’s what got him into trouble.”
Chapter Ten
Sharp fangs bared and lip curled up, my patient didn’t hide his willingness to bite down hard on me. Brown eyes with huge dark pupils stared into mine—furious and ready to lunge. Then, with no warning, he catapulted himself at my face.
“Stop that, you naughty boy,” his owner told the eight-pound Chihuahua, pulling him back against her chest. His skinny stick legs scrambled about like eggs in a pan, but to no avail. Mother Nature had put the heart of a lion into the body of a mouse.
As always, I didn’t take it personally. Little Man and his owner, Daffy, were two of my oldest and most favorite clients. Often dressed in costumes, the pair never ceased to entertain us and feed us. But first we had to tame the beast.
Our house-call routine was as choreographed as a competition dance number. Mari distracted our grumpy Chihuahua with her keys, dangling them above his bulging eyes and translucent ears. Meanwhile, I silently snuck up behind him and lassoed his nose with a homemade gauze muzzle. Safe from his bite, we proceeded to torture him by cutting his toenails.
I suspected that Little Man also put on a show for us. During each house call, he forcefully defended his home and family from the creature in the white coat. He had every right to expect success. We, the invaders, always left eventually, defeated by the power of the Chihuahua.
“Just the nail trim today?”
“Yes. Thank you so much,” Daffy said when we finished and returned her fur baby into her arms. “Come sit down and have some tea or coffee. I’ve got your favorite cookies, Mari.”
We ignored the random halfhearted growls from our patient and sat down at the kitchen table. It was almost New Year’s and, as always, Daffy and Little Man were dressed in appropriate costumes.
Simply for fun, we’d bet on how they’d be dressed, and Mari lost. I figured Father Time, but my assistant went for the baby-in-a-diaper look, which made me cringe. How our client tailored a robe to fit a Chihuahua was genius. A retired teacher who never married, Daphne had been given the nickname Daffy by her family because of her delightful eccentricities. She indulged her creative side by sewing costumes for theater productions, Halloween parties, and pets, and knit copious numbers of mufflers and gloves for needy charities. To my mind, she deserved her bit of fun.
“Nice decorations,” Mari added, after peeking into the living room. I’d caught glimpses of holiday hats strung across the window, and silver streamers hanging from an overhead light when we’d first come in.
Daffy placed a large plate of assorted cookies and pastries on the kitchen table. The aroma of butter and cinnamon spiked my appetite. “Wait, you have to see the full effect.” She took off down a hallway, carrying Little Man under her arm like the French carry a baguette.
“What do you think the full effect is?” I questioned my technician.
“No idea.” Her hand snaked out and took a large chocolate chip cookie from the display.
“No diapers, please,” I whispered. “I don’t want to see either of them in a diaper.”
