Last But Not Leashed, page 7
“Good evening.” An older woman I recognized as one of the volunteers from the senior center tapped the mic again, making the audio screech. “Good evening. I’m so happy to introduce our speaker for tonight and for the remaining three lectures in this series. Although a tragedy has struck here”—she paused as if waiting for everyone to settle down—“I’m certain dear Sookie would want us to continue.”
A smattering of applause broke out.
“Elaine will be sharing her tips and suggestions for taming your closets. We are so grateful and happy to introduce tonight’s speaker, Elaine Armstet.”
The woman who stepped up to the podium had soft brown hair and a pleasant round face. She’d dressed in a business suit, like Sookie had, but where Sookie looked sharp and professional, Elaine resembled a distracted middle school teacher on the first day of class.
“Tonight we’ll be discussing closets,” Elaine began, her voice tentative.
I strained a bit to hear her as she spoke into a microphone perched on a stand.
“Louder,” yelled someone in the room.
The volunteer suggested she take the mic off the stand and hold it, which helped quite a bit. As Elaine warmed to the subject of hangers, her voice gained in authority. One of the things she said had never occurred to me.
“Be warned that if you have pets, their fur will cling to velvet-finished hangers—and those hangers might transfer that fur onto your clothes.”
A murmur of whispered voices moved through the room. Fancy plush hangers had been tempting me for a while, but now they didn’t sound like such a great idea.
As the evening progressed, I found myself jotting down a few notes and even laughing as Elaine told us some funny closet stories. She’d made the evening informative and fun without putting anyone or anything down.
The enthusiastic round of applause at the end of the evening was well deserved.
In a repeat of the prior meeting, we once again congregated in the reception area, drinking decaf coffee and eating cookies. I noticed Elaine close by, surrounded by fans, busily chatting away. The lecture had ended precisely on time.
Henry came by, and he and Mari began to talk.
“She did a great job, don’t you think?” Barbara had also been taking notes during the presentation. “I’m going to make my husband go back into the closet and put up more shelves.”
A stifled laugh came from Henry’s direction.
Picturing my own stuffed closet, I vowed to myself to clean it out. The four of us were chattering away about multiple pants hangers when someone yelled in a loud voice.
“Elaine, half of tonight’s speaker payment is mine. Cough it up.”
Everyone turned to see Glenn Overmann, red-faced and hair askew, striding toward Sookie’s assistant. He looked annoyed, ready for a fight.
To her credit, Elaine didn’t flinch. The thought crossed my mind that she had seen him like this before.
“That was the agreement,” he continued, but this time he pointed his finger in her face. “You split any fee you got through Sookie fifty-fifty. Did they pay you yet?”
Henry James walked over and said, “Is he bothering you, Miss Elaine?” He towered over both of them.
Elaine quickly said, “No. It’s just a slight disagreement between friends. Thanks for checking.”
Henry gave Glenn a scowl and then rejoined our group.
We all heard Elaine say, “Let’s talk about this in private.”
They walked toward the glassed double-door entrance, with Glenn leading the way. After stepping into the space between the two sets of doors, and in full view of everyone in the lobby, the two began to argue. Their voices were muffled, but we got the gist of the conversation.
Glenn’s gestures became more and more violent. He lifted his arms with balled fists and punched the air. Elaine glanced behind her, noticing the rapt audience staring at them. She said something that made Glenn look too. Elaine grabbed his arm and they both exited, making a quick left into the parking lot.
“That was awkward,” Mari commented.
Her sister-in-law poured herself more tea and reached for another cookie. “It’s about money, of course. It’s the root of all evil, so they say.”
“Personally, I think lack of money often forces bad decisions.” Several people I knew had made terrible choices for the sake of money.
“Or wanting to prove yourself,” Henry said. “Being macho.”
“Well,” Mari added, “I’ll bet losing his wife and all his money has been difficult for Glenn to adjust to. Although it doesn’t excuse his obnoxious behavior.”
“Rumor is he killed his wife.” The Biking Baker noticed a fresh batch of cookies and gave them a professional once-over.
I waited for Mari to mention the Circle K clerk’s alibi report, but she remained admirably silent.
Conversation soon turned back to closets. I listened but kept my eye on the double glass doors.
Henry mentioned that he loved the velvet hanger tip.
“Elaine is so sweet,” Barbara said. “She helped me organize my pictures and store them in the cloud. We also made some photo books using a company on the Internet.”
“I was thinking of doing that, too,” our only male voice commented.
Mari’s sister-in-law continued to praise our lecturer. “I think she’s just as good as Sookie, but infinitely easier to work with.”
My eyes stayed focused on those glass doors.
Elaine appeared suddenly on the front entrance sidewalk, unsteady on her feet. She pulled at the outside door, before leaning against the entry wall.
I jumped up and ran toward her. Blood matted her hair and a few drops trickled down her forehead.
“Let’s get her into a chair,” I told the other women, who sprang to the rescue.
Several people helped Elaine into the lobby, settling her into a large armchair. Meanwhile, Henry rushed past us and flung open the outer doors. Mari followed him outside.
It was obvious Elaine had suffered a head trauma. You could see a bloody clump of hair sticking up.
I called 911 and requested EMTs for a head wound. Another woman, who identified herself as an RN, took Elaine’s vitals and briefly questioned her.
“Can you tell us what happened, Elaine?” She dabbed some of the blood off with a moistened tissue.
A puzzled look came over our lecturer’s face. “I’m not sure. I think I hit my head on something.”
Her voice sounded tentative.
Using the light on my phone, I checked her pupillary response. They were reactive and the same size.
“Elaine,” the nurse said, “we’re going to let the EMT crew deal with that wound on your head.” She held up her hand. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Four. Please, I’m fine, I think.” She moved to stand up then sank back down. “A little dizzy, perhaps.”
We heard the sirens wailing from far away coming toward the community center. In less than five minutes two emergency vehicles rolled in, parking directly in front of the entry doors, bright lights glaring.
As the EMTs hurried over, I rejoined Barbara. We all watched the emergency crew huddle around the victim. More movement at the front door revealed Mari and Henry coming back in.
“Did you see anything?” I whispered to them.
“Nothing. But there’s a faint trail of blood from the parking lot to the front door.”
In ten minutes, the EMTs had Elaine on a stretcher with a temporary dressing on her wound. Someone handed back her purse and coat, and then the EMTs whisked her to the hospital.
“I’m taking off, too, before the cops get here,” Henry said as he slipped on his leather jacket. “Better if they don’t see me and start asking questions.”
“All three of us are your alibi,” Mari reminded him.
Henry kissed her on the forehead. “Sometimes that don’t matter.”
Everyone began talking, not sure if they should stick around. Barbara had to get back to her family.
I wondered where Glenn had gone. I could very easily see him getting angry enough to push Elaine, watch her fall, then walk away.
If that was tonight’s scenario, it made Glenn Overmann look guilty as hell.
Chapter Thirteen
New Year’s Eve was looming, and I hoped to see Luke soon. Today was December thirtieth. Luke planned to leave New York City sometime that morning and be here in Oak Falls by noon. I was more nervous than I thought I’d be.
Any hopes for a peaceful day shattered before my first cup of coffee. An early morning emergency showed up at the animal hospital that quickly threatened to derail my day. A goofy golden retriever named Gonzo with a face full of porcupine quills needed attention fast. All of his rubbing and pawing at his eyes and nose were breaking off quills and making things worse for both of us. We put him under light anesthesia and began to remove them.
Appointments were scheduled to start in twenty minutes, and I needed every one of those minutes. Under his silky blond coat lurked hidden quills we had to find by touch. The champagne chilling in my fridge to toast the New Year with Luke seemed light-years away.
As Mari pitched in, Cindy wandered over and began asking me questions about some pending lab results for a client on the phone. I felt as though I couldn’t cram one more thought into my brain.
“Let’s get those broken ones around his eyes,” I told Mari.
“Don’t forget to save all of them,” Cindy reminded me. Whenever a dog came in loaded with quills she told everyone the same thing. A local artist had first dibs on any quills we retrieved for use in her homemade jewelry.
Seeing how busy we were, Cindy told the client on hold she’d call him back around lunchtime.
“How did it go with Babykins this morning?” I asked Cindy while my hemostats clamped onto another quill. I didn’t realize she had left the room.
My voice must have carried halfway down the hallway because in a moment she reappeared by my elbow.
“Babykins Overmann?” I reminded her. “She was released from the hospital.”
Cindy raised her eyebrows in a way that said I’m getting to it. “After Mari told me about his public fight with Elaine, I was prepared for a little excitement, but Glenn came in and did his Mr. Charming act.”
“I didn’t know he had a Mr. Charming act.” One more smooth pull deposited another quill onto our pile. “That’s surprising. He didn’t complain about the bill? Throw something at you?”
Cindy again raised an eyebrow. “Everyone knows the chief of police is my brother-in-law. He’d have to be crazy to start up with me.”
“Did he have any questions?” I’d already emailed him information about his pet’s mild pancreatitis. Usually I try to speak to the owner in person, but Mari and I were deep in quill removal when he showed up to take his kitty home.
Cindy smoothed her hair back. “Not really. I gave him your list of instructions and email. He didn’t say much, just that Babykins was going to stay with one of Sookie’s friends for the immediate future.”
“Perhaps that’s better.” A quick check confirmed that almost all the quills in the face and neck were out. I moved farther down to search Gonzo’s front paws.
“Agreed.”
“His cat is doing well now,” I continued, prodding the pads of the golden retriever’s feet. “But someone needs to keep a close eye on her eating and make sure she gets her medications. Pancreatitis is a serious disease. Does this friend know Babykins well?”
“She’s their cat sitter and adores that little Abyssinian.”
Cindy looked over my shoulder as I discovered two last quills lurking in long golden fur.
“That’s it. Let’s clean up his nose and put pressure on whatever is still bleeding.” I took another look around the muzzle, neck, and chin to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Early this morning on his off-leash walk, Gonzo had smelled the delightful odor of a large rodent and couldn’t resist sticking his sensitive nose into trouble. Judging from the size of the quills, he’d encountered a full-grown porcupine with thousands of quills, one who knew just how to get away from a persistent dog.
Mari and I monitored him, making sure his recovery from anesthesia was a smooth one. Most people don’t realize that veterinarians and doctors use many of the same anesthetic drugs. Before we let him up, we’d already finished an inch-by-inch search of his entire body, nose to tail, to make sure we didn’t miss any stray quills—but just to be sure we did it again. Veterinary literature documented cases where sharp quills migrated from the skin and, in rare cases, penetrated deep into the body, even piercing the diaphragm.
While I watched his recovery from anesthesia and removed his endotracheal tube, Mari went to the fridge and brought back my water thermos for me and an energy drink for herself.
“Bet you’re looking forward to seeing Luke,” she said, handing me the water. “Did you tell him about the New Year’s party?”
“Yep.” I gulped down the liquid to avoid saying anything else.
Mari took the hint and moved to another subject. She frowned and randomly hypothesized about Glenn Overmann. “Do you think Elaine fell in the parking lot because he pushed her?”
Happy to talk about something else, I said the thought had crossed my mind. “Elaine says she doesn’t remember what happened.”
“That may be,” Mari replied. “Or perhaps she’s covering for him out of some misplaced loyalty to her friend Sookie?”
Fully awake now, Gonzo sat up, his tail wagging as if nothing at all had happened.
A strange thought came to me. What if this overblown animosity between Elaine and Glenn was camouflage for something else? What if the two were closer than anybody suspected?
On my break I took Mr. Pitt and Buddy for their walks. The parking lot on our side of the building was empty except for the hospital truck. Mr. Pitt proudly trotted around with Buddy’s discarded moose toy hanging from his mouth. In the weak sunlight, I noticed the two dogs kept their eyes on each other and, of course, had to sniff each other’s business.
Once that bonding experience passed, we all went back inside. I offered them individual treats then checked Mr. Pitt’s wounds. Already responding to the cleaning and antibiotics, his lesions looked much better. With any luck through the microchip information, we’d soon find his owner.
My lunch break over, I left both dogs busily chewing their toys from the comfort of their doggy beds.
I checked my messages again. Nothing from Luke.
I’d just walked into my office when I received a text from Cindy to meet her in reception. She’d tracked down the phone number listed on Mr. Pitt’s microchip and called the company, with mixed results.
Cindy made notes into the office computer as she explained. I listened and looked out the front window hoping to see Luke’s car pull in.
“Mr. Pitt’s chip is registered, but the contact information is out-of-date. Someone named Bill Phillips is the owner. Mr. Pitt’s name at that time was Mighty Mouse. Phillips no longer lives at the given address, and the home number is disconnected. We can send him a letter, but if the forwarding address order has expired, we’ll have to get a bit more creative.”
Her news disappointed me. By implanting a microchip, veterinarians make it easier for lost pets to be returned home. Unfortunately, busy owners often forget to update their current addresses with their chip company, or they enter a local landline as an emergency number instead of a cell phone. And if the pet gets rehomed, someone needs to alert the chip registry.
“At least we have a name and an old address. That’s a start,” she continued.
With many years of experience behind her, I knew the search for Mr. Pitt’s people was safe with Cindy.
“Maybe we should send an email out to all our clients reminding them to keep their microchip information current,” I suggested. “They can add it to their New Year’s resolutions.”
Cindy looked up from her desk. “Good idea. I’ll send a mass email, and add a general description of Mr. Pitt. We’ll post something on social media, too.”
More and more, social media provided a very effective way of reaching a large number of people. In this case, we would hold back pictures and descriptions of Mr. Pitt’s distinguishing marking, a lightning-bolt-shaped white patch on his chest. We wouldn’t hand him over to just anyone.
“Your next appointment is in a half hour,” Cindy told me after getting up and pulling out a file drawer. “Sorry, but you are completely booked until six.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I took off for the employee lounge in search of my midday cup of coffee. Cindy began cleaning and straightening up reception in anticipation of the afternoon rush.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Mari said when I opened the employee lounge door. She lay on our worn green sofa, her shoes dangling in midair.
Doc Anderson had installed the sofa so staff members or relief vets could take a quick nap or simply get off their feet. I’d used it many times for just that purpose.
“We’ve got about twenty-five minutes until appointments start,” I informed her, surreptitiously checking my messages.
Still nothing from Luke.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee lured me over to the countertop machine. Everyone on staff had their own mug. Mine was a gift from Gramps that said “Keep On Truckin’,” a joke about the beat-up Ford F-150 I drove. Mari drank from hers, customized with pictures of her two huge rottweilers, otherwise known as her “babies.”
Mari grunted and stretched her arms out above her head. “So, what time is Luke getting here?”
Mug in hand, I sat opposite her. “As soon as I know I’ll tell you.” The tone of my voice must have signaled something because my friend sat right up and asked, “What’s wrong?”
