Trip pulled her stethoscope from her shirt, keeping up the massage with her other hand. “Jamie, can you stroke her lightly while I do some listening?” Jamie trailed her fingers lightly along Petunia’s chest while Trip listened to her bowel sounds, then along her belly while Trip listened to her heart and lungs. “Heart and lungs sound good, but her gut is definitely painful and producing a lot of gas.” She held the stethoscope out to Dani and stepped to the side. “How about you take a listen—just in case you hear something I didn’t.”
Dani put her notes aside and rubbed her hands together to make sure they were sufficiently warm. Petunia’s only reaction when Dani’s hand replaced Trip’s was to let out a long snore. She was a picture of relaxation. They waited in silence for Dani’s verdict.
“Heart and lungs good,” Dani confirmed. “And I concur on the tenderness.” Petunia’s hind foot twitched when Dani probed her upper belly.
Trip gently rolled Petunia onto her side when she began to sneeze from lying on her back. The terrier stood and shook herself, then looked to Jamie.
“So,” Jamie said.
“I understand that Petunia has a history of bowel problems, but let’s talk specifically about why you brought her in today,” Trip said.
“She’s been reluctant to eat lately. I’ve been feeding her prescription food that a specialist in New York prescribed, but she’s either tired of it or doesn’t feel like eating at all.”
“Well, if her intestines are tender or she’s feeling too bloated, that could discourage her appetite,” Trip said. “Dani, let’s draw some blood and get a panel on her.”
“I brought stool and urine samples,” Jamie said, pointing to a pair of plastic containers by the exam room’s sink.
“That’s great,” Dani said, gathering what she needed from the cabinets over the sink counter.
“I know the drill. I’ve taken her to several vets, trying to fix this for her.” Jamie’s voice broke on her last words, and the muscle in her jaw worked while she watched Dani’s quick, efficient technique.
Trip was no stranger to owners becoming emotional over their animals, but Jamie’s distress choked her throat, too. She took up the chart Dani had started and asked some questions to steady herself and distract Jamie. “So, can you give me some background on Petunia? You rescued her from a research lab?”
Jamie shook her head. “I got her from a kill shelter. They said she’d originally come from a research lab. The people who left her there said their son had adopted P from the SPCA after the lab gave in to public pressure to stop animal testing. Then he dumped her on them when he decided to travel overseas after graduating college.”
“If we could track down the type of research they were doing, it might give us some clues about her problem,” Dani said as she finished drawing the blood.
“The shelter asked, but the couple didn’t know and their son was hiking overseas and unreachable. I asked if I could talk to the people who turned her in, but the shelter said they’d give the people my request, but the people never called.”
“What was the name of the shelter?” Trip asked. “I’d like to talk to the vet they use to see if they can give me any better history on her.”
Surprise showed in Jamie’s eyes, then a glimmer of hope. “Nobody, none of the vets we’ve seen, ever asked me that before.”
Dani patted Jamie’s shoulder. “I promise that Trip and I will leave no stone unturned. Trust us.”
Jamie looked down at Petunia, her throat working. When she looked up, her eyes searched Trip’s, not Dani’s, and the swirl of uncertainty in them cut Trip like a scalpel.
Dani held up the specimens. “I’m going to get these off to the lab.”
“Thanks,” Trip said. She turned back to Jamie when the door clicked shut behind Dani. “I’ll do everything in my power to help P, Jamie. But you have to let me do everything I feel is necessary. I want to fly her up to Athens for an MRI at the veterinary school and consult with one of my old professors.”
Jamie hesitated, and Trip wondered if it was the expense that worried her.
“I have a friend with a plane, and he owes me several favors. I’ll call him and the vet school to see what I can coordinate.” She shoved Petunia’s medical file across the table and held out her pen. “If you’ll write your cell number down, I’ll call and let you know when so you can check with Grace about covering your shift.”
“I can go with her?”
Trip chuckled. “I think it would be best, considering her dislike for lab coats. There’ll be a lot of them at the vet school.”
Finally, a slow smile spread across Jamie’s face. She was a handsome woman, but when she smiled, she was so beautiful Trip’s heart skipped a beat…or two. “Does that mean I’m going to have to hug a lot more veterinarians?”
Trip shook her head. She wanted all Jamie’s hugs reserved for her. “I’ll let them know ahead of time to ditch the lab coats.”
Jamie scribbled down her number. “How soon should I expect to hear from you?”
“Write down the name of the shelter and the dates of when Petunia was there, as well as you can remember.” Trip tapped the file to indicate where. “By the end of the week,” she said in answer to Jamie’s question. “Sooner if I can arrange it.”
Jamie scribbled down the information, then lifted Petunia to the floor. The scruffy little dog sat obediently at Jamie’s heel. “Okay.” She reached for her wallet as she turned to go.
Trip called after her. “Oh, and don’t worry about the bill. Since she works for the sheriff’s department, they’ll cover her medical costs.”
“But she doesn’t belong to the county. P belongs to me. I’ll pay her bills.”
Trip nodded but smiled. “Grace said between my parking fines and the federal kickback they get from your drug busts, the county is flush with money.”
Jamie shook her head, but Saturday’s anger was gone from her eyes and a quick grin revealed the dimples Trip remembered from college. “Then I’ll be sure and leave more tickets on your truck. I wouldn’t want the county to run short of funds.”
“Police profiling, I tell you.” Trip smiled back at Jamie but pointed at the door. “Out. Back to patrol. I’ll call you.”
Jamie gave her a dismissing wave and stepped into the hall. Petunia followed, but paused in the doorway. She tensed and grunted, then sighed audibly after squeezing out a loud burst of flatulence, and then trotted to catch up with Jamie.
“Thanks for that, pup.” Trip sniffed cautiously. Her best guess was poorly digested food and a hint of blood. She wouldn’t let herself contemplate the possibility of cancer, because her heart was soaring. Jamie had smiled at her. A true smile, not forced or sarcastic. She strolled the opposite way down the hallway, glad that Michelle was shoveling crap in the stables rather than waiting in her office. Trip had phone calls and arrangements to make. And Jamie’s smile to fill her daydreams.
* * *
The elation of Jamie’s smile was dampened by a frustrating morning of phone calls. The only person she could catch in his office was Joe, her client with the plane. She bartered flying time in his plane in exchange for vetting his wife’s hunter-jumpers. He was pretty open the rest of the week, but she needed to know when the vet school could fit Petunia in their clinic schedule. She left a message and her cell number for her former professor who mentored her. He had the clout to squeeze her in their MRI schedule. A call to the shelter where Jamie found Petunia produced the name of the vet clinic they used, but it was a big, busy practice and their doctors serviced the shelter on a rotating basis. The office manager said she’d research the dates to see if she could tell which doctor might have seen Petunia, but the constant ringing of phones and interruptions while she was trying to talk to the woman left Trip less than optimistic that she’d actually remember to do it.
Doubt began to eat at her. If multiple vets and a few specialists hadn’t been able to help Petunia, why did she think that she could? She was an equine
specialist and tended to refer any complicated small animal cases to a veterinary hospital in Savannah. Was she destined to screw up with Jamie again?
Jamie said none of the other vets had delved into Petunia’s history. Maybe there were other possibilities they neglected to investigate. One step at a time. She stood and tucked her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans. Right now, she had a few farm calls to make.
Trip stepped out to the front desk to let Brenda know she would be out doing calls the rest of the afternoon. But her receptionist wasn’t behind the desk. She was standing in the waiting room, where only one client—Mrs. Townsend holding a cat carrier in her lap—was still waiting to see Dani. The room had been full by midmorning. Yep, Dani was a great hire. She’d reorganized the clinic and its staff for maximum efficiency. Trip had never been able to give the clinic her full attention because she was out on farm calls three or four afternoons a week.
“Hey, Brenda. I’m on my way out for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Dr. Beaumont. Can you give me just a minute of your time before you take off?” Brenda was pure Southern country girl, but she was unfailingly professional. She never called Trip anything but Dr. Beaumont in front of clients, was a genius at juggling appointment requests, and kept meticulous records. She wouldn’t give up her tobacco habit, but used a variety of tastefully scented waxes or aromatic oils in the ceramic warmer on her desk to cover the cigarette odor.
“Sure. What’s the problem? Do we need to go in my office?” Trip offered Mrs. Townsend and her cat, Muffin, a nod and a smile to acknowledge them, but Mrs. Townsend looked to Brenda for a response.
“Thank you, but no. The problem is out here.” Brenda pointed to the dusty oil painting of dogs sitting around a poker table, and Mrs. Townsend backed her up with a vigorous nod.
“I don’t understand.”
Brenda tucked her chin to look over her reading glasses at Trip. “We’ve painted the walls, trim, and ceiling in this room, and changed out those old hard church benches you liked so much for some comfortable, updated chairs.”
Mrs. Townsend smoothed her hand over the pleather seat of the chair next to her. “They’re so nice.”
Brenda swept her hand downward to direct Trip’s attention to the floor. “This vinyl plank flooring is as easy to clean up as it is beautiful.”
“Beautiful,” Mrs. Townsend said. A yowl from Muffin confirmed that she liked it, too.
“Your point?” Trip wasn’t following. What did all this have to do with her dog art?
Both women turned pointed stares at Trip.
“That painting needs to go,” Brenda said. “We need some real art to jazz up the walls. I’ll be happy to hang dogs playing poker in your office so you can look at it as much as you want.”
Trip had found this treasure at a very reputable flea market, but Brenda’s expression brooked no argument. She looked to Mrs. Townsend for support.
“Needs to go,” Mrs. Townsend said.
“Okay, you can move it to my office. But you’ll have to find some reasonably priced art to replace it out here.”
Brenda put a hand up. “Not a problem. I hear that Ellen Gardner’s niece is selling everything in her gallery before she goes back to New York City.”
“Good idea. I’ll ask River if she can drop by to get a look at our wall space and color scheme, then she can pick out some pictures for us from the stock in the gallery.”
Brenda patted Trip on the arm, then rounded the front counter at the sound of toenails scrabbling along the floor to take payment from the man being pulled toward the exit by a fat Labrador retriever. “Cindy will be out to take you and Muffin back as soon as she wipes down the exam room,” she said to Mrs. Townsend.
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Townsend said. “But there’s no rush. We’re quite comfortable in these new chairs.”
Trip turned to go out the rear of the clinic, then stopped when a new idea bloomed in her head. She walked to the front of the counter and picked up the nameplate that stated “Receptionist,” and tucked it behind the counter. “Order a new sign with your name on it and office manager underneath. Your promotion is effective immediately. We’ll negotiate your raise tomorrow.”
Brenda’s eyebrows shot up. “Why, thank you, Dr. Beaumont. Frankly, I thought you might fire me for wanting to get rid of your dog picture.”
“Nope. You’re right. I’ll get some fresh stuff to go out here.” Trip smiled. “And, Brenda, your first task as office manager is to tell Michelle, when she returns from the stable, that I want the aquarium in the waiting room cleaned.” She usually paid the local pet shop to come out and clean it, but she wanted Michelle to think long and hard before she maligned one of her patients when the owner or any other client could hear. “But tell her to do it after clinic hours.”
Brenda raised a questioning eyebrow at the request.
“Then sometime tomorrow when you have time, could you review our professional standards with her? You can use my office.”
Brenda’s eyes narrowed as realization clicked in. “I’ll be more than happy to do that, Dr. Beaumont.”
Trip smiled. Brenda didn’t care much for Michelle’s flirting with clients and staff, and had made no secret she felt Michelle lacked any sense of decorum. Trip patted herself on the back. Michelle problem solved. Brenda would whip her into shape or badger her so much that Michelle would voluntarily seek other employment. Truthfully, Trip hoped Brenda could bring her in line, or else Michelle would have the same problem at her next job.
* * *
Trip was checking the supplies in her truck when Dani called to her from the clinic’s back door.
“Hey. If you talk to Jamie, ask her if she can remember the other doctors who’ve examined Petunia. If we can get them to fax their files on her, reviewing them might turn up something.”
“Excellent idea,” Trip said. “I’ll call her when I get in the truck.” Damn, she should have thought of that. Instead, she was busy thinking about how good Jamie smelled. Well, at least she was smart enough to have Dani back her up on the case.
Trip started up the big diesel engine and headed down the drive to the highway. “Call Jamie,” she commanded when the truck signaled it had synched with her phone.
Jamie answered on the second ring. “Jamie Grant.”
“Hey, it’s Trip.”
“That was quick.”
“I’ve got the plane on standby, but I’m waiting for callbacks from the shelter and the vet school. I was actually calling about something else.”
“Okay.” Jamie sounded wary.
“Do you have any records from the specialists who’ve examined Petunia?”
“Only billing receipts.”
“Good enough. All I really need are their names, and the dates on the receipts would be helpful. We can call and request that they fax or email any records they have.”
“Most of my stuff is in storage. I’m staying at the B and B until I find a house.”
“Storage here?”
“That new one next to the truck stop.”
“Can you meet me there around six? I should be done with farm calls by then.”
“My shift ends at seven.”
“How about seven thirty?”
“Okay. P and I will see you then.”
Trip tapped a happy tune on the steering wheel. She was going to see Jamie again—twice in one day. She turned east toward Roy Horton’s farm. His favorite mare dropped a new foal last night and, though the birth appeared to go fine, she needed to check mother and baby over to make sure there were no hidden problems.
She opened the iTunes app on her phone, selected her favorite playlist, and sang along with Jewel as the music flowed from the truck’s speakers. She had the highway to herself, except for a motorcycle approaching from the opposite direction. As it drew closer, she realized it was Clay and they waved at each other as they passed.
Her thoughts turned to Clay and River. She was happy for her, but anxious t
hat Clay might move back to New York and bust up their trio again. Maybe River had some of Clay’s art for sale at the gallery. Wait. Clay had tried before to give Trip the paintings she had at her studio. Trip had a key to the place, and she was going to go right past there on the way to the Horton farm. She’d stop on the way back and pick them up. Then if Clay left, she would have something to remind her of Clay every time she went into the clinic. Trip could drop by the garage later to let Clay know she had them.
Chapter Twelve
“Can I help you with something?”
Jamie was heading for the door to the garage’s office, but diverted when Clay called to her from the open bay. She’d seen Clay at the Clip ’n Curl and at the cookout, but they’d never been introduced. She offered her hand. “Jamie Grant. Sergeant Booker said I should bring the car in for an oil change.”
“Clay Cahill.” She shook Jamie’s hand.
Clay was pleasant enough, but seemed a bit edgy about something, which always made Jamie suspicious. Petunia was doing her pee-pee dance in the back seat, so Jamie scanned the area. Nothing but concrete. The weeds on the edge of the pavement would have to do. “Say, do you mind if I let my dog out for a minute? She needs to use the weeds over there.”
“Go ahead. There’s nothing she can hurt around here, as long as she doesn’t go toward the road.”
“She won’t.” Jamie pointed to the clump of weeds and signaled “release.”
Petunia ran to the weeds, gave them a sniff, then turned to give them a long watering. Clay reached down and patted Petunia when she bounded back to them. Petunia sat next to Clay’s feet and wagged her tail. She seemed to like Clay.
“Pull the car into the second bay and center it over that lift.” Clay knelt beside Petunia sinking her fingers into her wiry fur while Jamie maneuvered the cruiser into the garage.
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