by Renee George
I sighed contentedly. The place finally looked like a real home.
“It’s beautiful.” Happiness welled up inside me and spilled out as tears of joy. “I can’t believe you all did this for me.”
“Don’t you know, Lily Mason, that I would do just about anything for you?”
“I do know.” I turned into him and lay across his lap.
He cradled me in his arms. “I love you. We all do.”
“I do want to live with you, Parker. I hope you know that I do. I just don’t want to leave this place. I love this property, and now I love my house. I can’t live in town. I’m just not made for neighbors.”
“Then how about Elvis and I move out here with you?”
“You’d do that? Give up your place?”
Parker laughed. “I talked to a realtor last week. There’s a dog and cat groomer couple looking for a place to live and open a full-time business. The house and the old shelter can give them exactly what they need.”
“Have they made an offer?”
“Yes, but I told them I had to talk to someone about it first.” He kissed me and sizzle zipped through me. “So, I’m talking. What say you, Lils? Want a roommate?”
“No,” I told him. “I want a mate.”
“Is that a yes?” He looked hopeful.
“It’s a yes.”
He kissed me again. This time the sizzle went right to my toes. His fingers wound through my hair. “The floors have been laid,” he said.
“Well,” I said. “A deal’s a deal.”
Chapter 10
The next morning, Parker took Elvis and Smooshie with him to the shelter so I could prepare for my early class, Veterinarian Diagnostic Imaging. The course description described the class as an in-depth study into the history and practice of veterinarian medical radiology. I would be learning the history of radiology, along with how to take the x-rays and develop them.
I’d seen Kelly, at vet tech at Ryan’s practice, perform several radiological images on dogs and cats brought into the office. The clinic had an up-to-date digital imaging table with a mobile arm and an adjustable seventeen-inch square flat panel that displayed an image immediately on the monitor. It required a fraction of the time the old tables that used film cassettes used to take, so most of the animals that needed x-rays these days didn’t need sedation unless they were in a lot of pain or couldn’t hold still for a few seconds.
I didn’t do much except observe, but I thought it was fascinating. I hoped the class would teach us a little about the diagnostic aspect of radiology as well. It wouldn’t be in my job description, but I was still very curious.
Dr. Milo Cramer, a retired veterinarian radiologist by practice, taught the course. I’d met him before because he was the guy Ryan sent images to if he wanted a second opinion. Dr. Cramer gets a consultant fee, but he doesn’t charge a lot, so Ryan can keep the fees down. Hearing some of the billing nightmares some of his clients faced at other clinics made me angry. One woman had been billed over thirty thousand dollars to keep her pug alive for an extra six weeks with painful surgeries to remove tumors and part of a lung, and finally, the poor thing had to be placed on a ventilator, where it spent the last week of its life sedated.
Ryan would have never recommended such an expensive and invasive course of treatment for a terminal creature. He would have strongly recommended comfort measures until it was time to say goodbye, and if she’d insisted on more extreme measures, he would have referred her elsewhere. Some people, whether it was with pets or people, struggled to let go, sometimes to the detriment of the ones they loved. I knew this because Ryan had told me so in confidence.
“Well, hello, Lily,” Dr. Cramer said when I got to class. He was robust and physically fit for his age, which I guessed to be early seventies. He had white hair, but it was still thick and healthy, no thinning. “I saw you were on my roster. How’s the pup?”
I knew he wasn’t talking about Smooshie. Dr. Cramer was hands-on when it came to reading x-rays, which is why home delivery of the printed images had been required. I’d delivered three of them to him at his home office last week on a beagle who’d been hit by a car. There’d been no doubt his hip had been fractured, but Ryan had been worried about the cervical spine as well, and he wanted a second opinion. There had been a small bone fragment broken loose and the dog had needed surgery. Dr. Cramer had shown me on the images where he’d found it and how he’d recognized the anomaly. If he taught class in the same way, this was going to be a really interesting course.
“Pepper is doing great,” I told him. The beagle had made it through with flying colors, and thanks to Dr. Cramer and Ryan, it wouldn’t suffer any extra complications from the injury.
His bushy gray brows settled over kind eyes, and his smile was wide, warm, and infectious. “Wonderful.”
The class had only six other students. Two young women who looked to be in their teens still. Three young men who weren’t much older, and a guy who appeared to be in his thirties. He wore a wedding band. I smiled. I wasn’t the only one reinventing myself.
I took a seat in the second row behind the two girls. Two of the younger guys were at the very back of the class. While the third sat in the row up from them. The older man sat three chairs to my right. Dr. Cramer gazed out at us then said, “Everyone in the back, fill in the front two rows.”
The young guys didn’t groan or complain, but their protest was definitely in their body language. I worked to hide my smile.
The class, like most first days, lasted only as long as it took Dr. Cramer to run through the code of conduct rules and the course syllabus. He had a strict absentee policy, even more so than the college’s when it came to grading. I made a big star on my copy of the syllabus next to the “for every absence after the first one, you will be dropped a letter grade.” It seemed harsh, but I guess if a student had gone through all the trouble to get this far into the program, there was a certain level of commitment expected. We would have lectures on Mondays and lab hours on Wednesdays.
“On Wednesdays we’ll meet in the science building, room 208. We share it with the radiology students for several disciplines who meet there during the rest of the week, so please be considerate when using, caring for, and cleaning the equipment. Failure to do so can result in a reduction of your grade.”
He paused as he gauged our reactions. I glanced at the married guy. He gave me a half-smile and shrugged nervously. I gave him a half-smile and a shrug back.
Dr. Cramer, seemingly satisfied, continued. “We will be meeting twice at a veterinarian clinic for some practical experience in a work setting. You'll be meeting with Dr. Ryan Petry of the Petry Pet Clinic. It would benefit you all to pay careful attention to his work practices, and the practices of those who work for him. Some of you,” he nodded to me, and almost all the eyes in the class turned in my direction, “already know Dr. Petry. He’s well-respected among his peers. If you want to impress him and me, then don’t get in his way when he’s working, be professional, know your stuff. The last two things are applicable for my class as well.
“Read chapters one and two in your textbooks. I’ll expect you to be able to demonstrate basic safe practices covered in chapter two in the lab on Wednesday, and next Monday, we’ll cover the physics of x-rays.” He scanned us again. “Any questions?”
One of the young girls, a stout blonde named Bethany, raised her hand.
“Go ahead,” Dr. Cramer told her.
“Do we need to buy special clothing for the lab days? Like a lab coat?”
It was a good question.
“No.” He looked down at her flip-flops. “But you must wear closed-toe shoes in the lab. Don’t want any heavy equipment or chemicals dropped onto your toes. Also, the lab can get cold, so I suggest you all dress appropriately.”
I made another note on my syllabus to wear tennis shoes, bring a sweater, and wear long pants.
After he dismissed us, I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that we�
�d be sharing the lab with radiology students. I stopped by his desk. “Dr. Cramer?”
“Can I help you with something, Lily?”
“Do you know Dale Rogers from the hospital?”
His bushy brows lowered at me. “Do you think all radiologists know each other?”
The way he said it made me laugh. “The fact that you know he’s a radiologist tells me it’s probably true.”
“In a small town like Moonrise, you’re not wrong. Dale and I cross paths here at the college, but rarely anywhere else. Why are you asking about him?” His eyes crinkled for a moment as a pinch of disappointment colored his expression. “You’re not involved with him, are you?”
“No,” I said quickly. “That’s not why I’m asking about him.”
“Then why?”
“His ex-wife Abby. She was a friend of mine,” I lied. “Recent friend.” Less of a lie. “I didn’t know her when she was married to Dale. The police think she might have committed suicide, and I can’t believe it of the Abby I knew.”
“I’m sorry about your friend. I know Dale enough to say hello to him in the hall. I’m afraid I can’t help you, Lily, with the answers you’re looking for.”
I nodded. “I understand.” I hadn’t expected any real insight from Dr. Cramer. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable by asking.”
He smiled again. “Of course not.” He paused for a moment, much as he had in class when going through the syllabus, then said, “His office is in the science building on the first floor. He’s here on Monday mornings, you know, if you just happened to be passing by that way, oh, I don’t know, say, to check out where the Wednesday lab is held.”
“Thank you, Dr. Cramer.”
“See you on Wednesday,” he replied on a wink.
The science building was one building over. I made short work of the walk over, afraid that if I dawdled, I’d miss my chance to check out Dale Rogers. The aroma of chemicals, sour, stringent, and medicinal, wafted in the halls, clinging to the clothes of students exiting labs. There were a lot of rooms on the first floor, and since Dr. Cramer hadn’t specified which one was Rogers’ office, I took a peek in each one. The first five rooms were classrooms, but the next two were offices. There were names written on paper and slid into slots near the doors. Lazenby and Donaldson were on one door. The other had Rogers and Daltry written in. This was the place.
I heard talking behind the door, so I paused just outside in the hall and focused my listening.
“I won’t talk to you about Abigail,” I heard a man say. “Not here. It’s not the appropriate time or place.”
“Then where would you suggest we talk, Mr. Rogers?” another man asked. I recognized the tonality and authority in the voice. It was acting sheriff Bobby Morris. “We can do this down at the station, if you like? I can arrange that.”
“Doctor Rogers,” Dale Rogers corrected. After a few seconds of silence, in which I was certain he was being stared down, Rogers said, “Fine. Ask your questions. Anything to get you to go away.”
I moved closer to the door, no longer concerned whether someone saw me lurking or not.
“Your wife had an insurance policy.”
“My ex-wife,” Dale said. “Why does this concern me? We’ve been divorced for over a year.”
“You are named her benefactor, sir,” Bobby said. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“Do I think it’s strange that my ex,” he emphasized ex, “was absent-minded enough to forget to take me off her life insurance policy? No. I don’t think it’s strange at all. Abby wasn’t…reliable.”
I kind of agreed with Dale on this one. If Abby had insurance before the divorce, she could have easily forgotten to take his name off as beneficiary. Especially if the payments were automatic. Out of sight, out of mind sort of thing.
“So, you admit you’re the one who arranged the life insurance policy.”
“She was my wife at the time, so, yes, I admit it. But that has nothing to do with my life now.”
Then Bobby Morris dropped the mike. “What about the fact that all the payments have been coming out of your bank account? A five-hundred-thousand-dollar policy is a pretty big motive, don’t you think?”
I imagined Dale’s face getting red as Bobby slammed him with the facts.
Dale sputtered the next words. “I didn’t…I couldn’t. I didn’t kill Abby. I love her. I wouldn’t do that to her.” That wasn’t a complete lie, but I could feel the edge of untruth in his words. I heard him scoff. "All I can think is that I must have forgotten to take her insurance off automatic payments."
“You loved her enough to leave her with nothing from the divorce settlement. I’ve seen the court records, Mr. Rogers.” Bobby had Rogers on the ropes, and he wasn’t about to let up.
“That was an agreement between the two of us,” Dale hissed.
“And how did you get her to make this agreement? Did you threaten her?”
“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”
For the first time since I’d started eavesdropping, Dale Rogers had told a bald-faced lie. My magical polygraph was pinging off the paper.
“Besides,” Dale said, “I wasn’t in town two nights ago.”
“Where were you?”
I held my breath, waiting for Dale’s response.
“Can I help you?” a woman said from behind me. I stumbled back and turned to find myself facing down a very stern-looking black woman. She wore a blue pantsuit, and had her arms crossed over her chest. Her heeled foot tapped against the hall tile as she waited for me to answer.
“Uhm, no, ma’am. I was just looking for my classroom.”
“Uh huh.” She looked unconvinced. “What class would that be?”
I dropped my backpack down and rummaged through until I found my class roster. “I have Veterinarian Diagnostic Imaging labs on Wednesday. Dr. Cramer doesn’t put up with lateness, so I thought I should figure out where the class is so I can find it fast.”
Her expression softened, though her eyes still held a hint of suspicion. “You are one floor off,” she said. “Room 208 is up those stairs.” She pointed to an opening about twenty feet past the offices. “You go up one flight, take a right. Room 208 is the second room on the left.”
“Thank you,” I said with real relief. I heard the rattle of Rogers’ door and inwardly groaned. “I’ll head up there now.”
She must have seen something in my face, because she said, “Just hold on there a minute.”
The door was opening. Crap. Crap. “I really can’t. I have another class I have to get to soon.”
“What’s your name?” She tried to look at my class roster again, but I shoved it in my bag and zipped it up.
“Thanks for all your help.” I turned on my heel, trying to walk away before—
“Lily Mason? Is that you?” a man asked.
I turned to face him. Bobby Morris was a tall black man, maybe six feet, four inches in height, with dark skin and warm brown eyes. He wore a brown uniform, crisply pressed. “Oh, hey, Sheriff Morris. What are you doing here?”
The woman who’d caught me listening narrowed her gaze on me. I grimaced.
A man in tan slacks and a blue shirt walked out of the office, red faced and sweating. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, dark brown hair, glasses, and a thin mustache. He took his glasses off and wiped them with an alcohol wipe, then put them back on before briskly passing us in the hall. He didn't look up or make eye contact with any of us.
Bobby crossed his arms. “Why is it that the only time I see you is when there’s a body involved?” he asked.
Now it was the woman’s turn to grimace. She gave me a pitiable look then walked away. I guess she figured law enforcement outranked professor.
After she left, I gave him a sly smile. “Just lucky I guess.”
“Walk me out,” he said.
As we made our way toward the exit, he said in a low voice, “Lord, Lily. Don’t tell me you’re over here investiga
ting Dale Rogers.”
“Okay,” I told him. “I am not here investigating Dale Rogers.”
“Are you lying?”
“Yes. Well, no. Not really. I’m more interested in what happened to Abby Rogers. So, really, I’m not investigating her ex so much as tracking down leads.”
“That’s my job, you know.” He wasn’t angry with me. Bobby and I had worked together before when the previous sheriff had been suspected of corruption. He knew I had value. “What do you think you know?”
“I know that Dale Rogers lied to you about not threatening Abby.”
“You were eavesdropping at the door and heard me talking to him.”
I nodded, confirming his statement. “I couldn’t help it. It’s not like you all were being quiet.” That was a small lie, but I couldn’t explain to him that I had supernatural hearing.
“I should have known you were involved when Nadine asked to revisit the victim’s apartment and Reggie called with an inconclusive, possibly suspicious, death report. You three are about as subtle as wrecking balls.”
“At least we’re not as destructive.”
He cocked a brow at me.
“How are the kids?” I asked, changing the subject. Bobby loved talking about his boys.
“Ray made pitcher on his baseball team. Conner just started fourth grade and they are moving him up a reading level.”
“What about Billy?” Billy was Bobby’s middle child.
Bobby laughed. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing he’s pretty like his mamma.”
“Bobby!” Our conversation was easy as we headed out toward the parking lot. My relationship with Sheriff Avery had been contentious and volatile, mostly because Avery had cared more about appearances and being right than he’d cared about the truth. Bobby Morris wasn’t like that. He was a good man, and I hoped the town could see that he was the right person for the job when election time rolled around.
“My truck is that way,” I said, pointing toward student parking. “Bobby, what is Dale’s alibi?” I hadn’t heard.
“Now, Lily. You know I can’t discuss police business with a civilian.”