Dogs Don't Lie

by Clea Simon

  “Hey, Pammy.” I burst into the shelter with no time to waste. “I’m here to pick up that Persian.”

  “Ms. Marlowe.” Her tone alerted me. I looked around and realized we weren’t alone. The veterinarian, Dr. Sharp, was sitting with a young family in the reception area.

  “Hey, Doc,” I called over and waved. This should be routine. No need to bother him in the middle of pet counseling, or whatever was keeping him out front here.

  “Pru.” Pammy lowered her voice as she came over. Taking my arm, she led me to the far side of the reception area. “I didn’t realize you’d be over so soon. I would have said something.”

  “Said what?” I glanced up at the big industrial clock. It was only a little past four. I’d made good time, but not enough to waste any here.

  “Well, some policeman came in and talked to Doc Sharp earlier. I think he was asking about you.” She looked up at me, and I realized how young she was. How scared. “They’re saying weird things about you, Pru. About you and animals.”

  For a moment, the room spun. I closed my eyes and waited for everything to settle. This is what I’d feared second most. Next to losing my mind was having everyone believe that I had lost it. I made myself look straight at Pammy, focusing on her blue eyeshadow and those wide, open eyes, and tried to think. Had someone heard me talking to Wallis or, God forbid, to Lily? Had Albert squealed on me about his ferret? Had I said—or done—something that revealed too much? I tried to form a question, but my mouth was too dry to speak.

  “It’s because of that dog, Pru. The one they thought killed the guy?” Pammy was whispering now, and the relief that flooded through me must have surprised her because her concern quickly shifted to irritation. “Well, that’s a big deal around here, Pru. Maybe not in the city.”

  “No, no, it’s not that.” I was nearly laughing with relief as I took Pammy’s hands. “I don’t mean to make light of that. It’s just, well, there’s been a lot going on, and I didn’t know if, I don’t know, I’d lost my license or something.” I was improvising. I had no license to lose.

  “Yeah, well, that’s another thing.” She looked over her shoulder, but the vet was still preoccupied. “They were also asking about your qualifications. Doc Sharp thinks the world of you, but he had to be honest. He told the policeman that you weren’t actually certified as a behaviorist. He said he thought you’d left the city in a hurry. He didn’t know why.”

  “My mother was sick.” Poor woman, I used her as an excuse a little too often. But Pammy was nodding.

  “Yeah, I wanted to remind him of that. I’m sorry, Pru. I guess Doc Sharp didn’t know the whole story.”

  You bet he didn’t, I thought to myself. And then the vet was walking toward us.

  “Pru, thanks for coming in.” The grey-haired doctor looked uncomfortable. Old Yankee stock, he didn’t take well to confrontation. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Yeah?” Damn it, I could hear the defensiveness in my own voice. I tried to soften it with a smile. I was too busy for a lecture, and as I saw him gather his thoughts, I took the offensive. “I think I’ve reached a resolution with that Persian. It’s anxiety, like we thought.” Like I thought, but I hoped that inclusive “we” and my stuck-on smile would get me out of here faster. “The owner’s had some lifestyle changes, but I’m sure with some home visits, I can make everyone happy.”

  I started toward the kennel area, but with one raised hand, Doc Sharp stopped me. “Now, Pru, I trust you. You know I do. You have an unerring instinct when it comes to certain animals.” I bit the inside of my lip to keep from cracking wise. The lecture was coming whether I wanted it or not. Better to get it over with. “But working with animals isn’t all about instinct.”

  “You said it.” The words slipped out. But the elderly vet was on a roll and either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

  “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to your qualifications for the work we do here. Some concerns have come up.” I waited. He didn’t mention the cops. If he wanted to take credit for the brainstorm, that was fine by me. I could handle Doc Sharp. “Questions, really. Some questions about certification.”

  “You know I left the city before I finished. My mother was ill.” That was my story, and I was sticking with it.

  He waved me down. “I know, Pru. I know. It’s just that we have a responsibility to the animals here. To the community. And, well, you’re not even certified as a vet tech.”

  I saw where this was going, and I didn’t like it. The cops had scared him, and he was going to dump me. “Dr. Sharp, you know perfectly well I’m more qualified than half the volunteers you have working here.” I thought fast. “If you need me to take the technician certification exam, I will. But a working practicum is part of my degree. It’s quite legitimate, considering my background, to have me here helping out with the animals.”

  “But you’re not properly supervised here.” He looked up at me and then away. Something else was coming. “And we’re paying you.”

  So that was it. Money again. But I had one more card to play. “If it’s the pay issue that bothers you, I can always go freelance. Charge clients directly. Set up a placard; take out ads.”

  “No, no, no.” That feeble waving let me know that he was done with me. I’d become an annoyance. “Don’t take on so, Pru. I just wanted to bring it up.”

  And I just wanted to quash it. “I’m going to finish my degree soon, Doc.” I’d throw the old man a bone. “But right now, I’m going to reunite one sad kitty and his person.”

  The black Persian was asleep when I got to his cage, his breathing regular. His dreams, the little I could pick up, seemed benign. A small feathered thing—either a toy or a bird—hovered just out of reach, but the chase was enticing. His paw pads twitched for a leap.

  “Come on, kitty.” I opened the door and scooped up the solid body. “Time to go home.”

  “Home.” The sleepy cat was slow to wake up, but even so, I was pleasantly surprised by his placidity. “Home is for pets.”

  Something had changed, and for the better. If I had time, I’d have tried to figure it out. As it was, I hoisted the cat into his carrier and hit the road.

  ***

  Wallis bristled a bit when I slammed in, as much from my own noisy entrance, I suspected, as from the black stranger in the green plastic carrier.

  “Sorry, sorry.” I swung the carrier up on the kitchen table and shed my coat. Wallis jumped up and, back ever so slightly arched, approached the newcomer. “Wallis, this is…” I paused. I had no idea what the black Persian called himself. Perhaps introductions didn’t matter. Wallis hissed, and the Persian backed up as much as his carrier would allow.

  “Okay, maybe this was a bad idea.” I swooped the carrier off the table and looked around for a place to leave it. The air outside was too cold to even consider my car, but from the way Wallis was looking at me, I knew no counter would be high enough. “Hang on.”

  I ran the carrier upstairs and left it on my bed, closing the door behind me just as the doorbell rang. “Hang on!” I called again, this time for a different audience, as I raced down the stairs and flung the front door open. Delia Cochrane looked up at me in surprise. Behind her, blocking the light, stood Chris Moore.

  “Sorry.” I was apologizing to everyone today. “I just got in and, well, I had to sequester a cat. Please, come in.” I held the door as the couple walked in. Delia looked around, frankly curious about her surroundings, as I ushered them both toward the living room.

  Chris, however, was staring at Wallis, who had assumed her sphinx pose on my dining room table. “What a lovely cat.” Too late, I realized his intentions.

  “Good cat.” He reached one large hand out.

  “No!” Wallis hissed and with a swipe, a line of red appeared on the back of Chris’ hand. “I’m so sorry.” I reached for Wallis, but she’d jumped down. Instead, I took Chris into the kitchen, where he let me wash the scratch. “She’s had a bad day. I had to bring anot
her cat into the house and she’s riled up.” I lowered my voice, not sure where my feline roommate had run off to. “Wallis can be very territorial.”

  “I understand.” Chris nodded, but his ordinarily stolid face looked stunned. Not much experience with cats, I figured.

  “Well, then, how is everybody?” I led him back into the living room, where Delia was now examining my bookshelf. Too late, I realized, the door to the back room—my office—was wide open. My laptop was in plain sight, open and, as always, on. A quick glance reassured me that the keychain drive was, in fact, attached. “Anyone want a drink? Cup of tea?” Hospitable was the last thing I felt, but there was an odd tension in the air, and I felt guilty first, of having swiped a kitten, and second, of having let Wallis attack Chris.

  “Interesting.” Delia pushed a hardcover back into place. “But no thanks. I think we’ll just get my kitten and head home.” She turned with a smile that I guessed was supposed to make up for her snooping. “I’ve had a long day.”

  “That’s right.” I fought the urge to apologize again. “How was Mrs. Harris?”

  “Nora? She’s a brick.” Delia turned toward me, and I realized she’d made no move to remove her jacket. “But she’s, well, she’s not taking her condition all that seriously. She misplaced some of her gardening tools a while ago. She’s very particular about them—they’re specially made for all the roots and rocks around here—and I guess she felt embarrassed about that. So she drove herself into town to buy new ones, even though she knows I’m there to do her errands. Turns out, she had an extra set of car keys hidden away. We had words about that.” She shrugged. “It’s a process. That dog is a handful, though.”

  “Lily’s not misbehaving, is she? Because if she needs any further training, you can call me.” I could feel the tightness of panic in my throat. If Delia couldn’t keep Lily, I’d be hard pressed to find another home for her.

  “No, she’s fine. She’s fine.” Delia stepped toward me. “She just seems a little needy right now. She cries, if you can call it that. But it’s a new place, and Charles….” She left the sentence unfinished. “She’ll settle in. But right now, between Mrs. H. and the dog, I’m wiped. My kitten?”

  “Oh, of course.” I hadn’t had a chance to ask Wallis where the kitten was hiding, and I didn’t think such a query would be welcomed now, even if there weren’t human witnesses present. “Let me just see where she’s gotten to.”

  I motioned toward the sofa, but neither Delia nor Chris sat. Instead, they watched as I went into my office, chirping and calling for the kitten. No sign of her, and I used the opportunity to close my laptop as I walked by. “She must be upstairs.”

  Inwardly, I cursed my own haste. Not only had I missed a chance to have the kitten packed up and ready to go, if I hadn’t rushed the Persian inside, I could have asked Wallis to treat the visitor kindly. Maybe she’d have been able to find out more about the black cat and his distant owner.

  I checked the second bedroom. With my bedroom door closed, I thought Wallis might have come in here to sulk, but her usual place on the windowsill, right by the night table I’d used all through grade school, was empty, and there were no felines of any kind under the bed. She and I were going to have to talk later.

  For now, I opened my bedroom door. Sure enough, the orange kitten was on the bed reaching toward the black Persian in his carrier. This time there was no hissing, only a strong sense of curiosity. I stood watching, and heard Delia behind me.

  “Oh, isn’t that adorable.” She stood beside me, both of us watching as the two cats touched noses. “Tulip has made a friend.”

  “What’s up?” Chris still moved like the athlete he had been. I hadn’t heard him come up the stairs.

  “Look.” Delia nodded toward the scene. I stepped into the room, as curious about the feline dialogue as I was ready to move these two humans on.

  “So, look, I can lend you a carrier for Tulip.” Stupid name. I picked up the kitten and got a sense of dislocation. The tiny kitten had been enjoying the larger cat. “Stay here?”

  “No problem. I can hold her.” Delia reached for the kitten. I hesitated. Cats can react badly to cars or sudden movements. But, then, I was hardly in a position to protest, seeing as how I’d lifted her kitten. “Pets?” At least the kitten didn’t mind.

  “So, you’re not going to have a problem keeping her now?” I hadn’t bought her story about why she’d brought the kitten over to Charles. “You don’t need me to find another home for her?”

  “Of course not.” Delia lifted the cat to her face and nuzzled it, her own tawny mane falling over the orange and white fur. “Delia! Pets!” The kitten started purring. Her person looked up at me. “What gave you that idea?”

  I didn’t get a chance to answer, and hearing the kitten’s enthusiastic reaction to the embrace, I’m not sure what I would have said. Instead, I was distracted by Chris, sprawling across my bed. “Hey, buddy.” He reached to unlatch the carrier door.

  “That cat isn’t used to people.” I reached for him, not wanting to see a guest scratched twice in one day. But if I expected the kind of reaction I’d gotten when I’d first started seeing the black Persian, I was proved wrong. The mellow mood of earlier seemed to have continued, despite the drive and the run-in with Wallis, and the large black cat came out willingly, letting Chris heft him into his lap.

  “Wow, that’s amazing.” I watched as the Persian strained his head up into Chris’ large hand. “That cat’s been having some behavioral issues.”

  “Not anymore, are you buddy?” Chris’ face was turned down, but I could see the cat’s paws reaching out to knead the air with pure pleasure.

  “That’s so strange.” Two cat lovers, two happy cats. Something was off here.

  “Not really.” Chris looked up, as happy as the cat he held. “I’d seen this guy in the shelter, when Delia was looking for her kitten. I’ve been visiting him.”

  I nodded. “Good to know. I’m supposed to be reuniting him with his owner. However, if that doesn’t work…”

  “We have Tulip back now.” Delia’s words were more for Chris than for me, and with a sigh he placed the large Persian back in his carrier. “Thank you so much, Pru.”

  I followed them back down the stairs. I’d been hoping to have some more private time with Delia, but maybe some of my questions had just been answered. Clearly, she was planning on making a life with Chris, whatever the story of her pregnancy. I watched them head out, Chris holding the door. Delia tucked the kitten inside her suede jacket for protection. She’d probably be a good mother, much as I didn’t like to admit it. Then it hit me. All those first few days, that kitten had been crying for her “mama.” But she hadn’t said anything like that when Delia had picked her up. Maybe she was young enough so that she’d already forgotten the woman who’d adopted her. Maybe the parent she was seeking wasn’t the blonde charmer at all.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  One cat down, one to go. I called Eleanor Shrift’s number, wondering what kind of program she’d go for, and left my number on her machine. The Persian, meanwhile, had curled up for a nap in his carrier. I couldn’t leave him in that forever. If his person was on another business trip, things might get crowded here. For now, though, he looked so peaceful, I decided not to disturb him. Instead, I went downstairs to make peace with Wallis—and make sense out of those files.

  It took a while, and I wasn’t entirely successful on either front. On the plus side, by the time Wallis emerged, I’d done what I should have from the start. I’d copied the files on the keychain drive to my own computer and begun to look through them in earnest. What Creighton had said was disturbing, but not surprising. Charles probably paid my bills because they were some of the smallest on there. That, and maybe he cared more for his dog than for his suppliers or distributors, whoever they were. But if I was going back to the cop shop, I wanted to know for sure what was up. Businesses go belly up lots of times, even those founded on great ideas. Nobody
ends up dead.

  “No one you know, anyway.” Wallis landed by the keyboard with a thud.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that.” I’d been staring at a screen too long, and her sudden appearance had startled me.

  “What, land abruptly?” She began licking one paw. “Or read your thoughts?”

  “Either. Both.” I pushed the laptop back. “I’m having a hard time making sense of any of this.”

  “Maybe because there’s no sense to be had.” She stared down at the keyboard, and I remembered our previous fight. I needed to change the subject.

  “Wallis, I wanted to ask you about the kitten—and also about the black Persian.”

  She sniffed and started closing her eyes. “You’re changing the subject.”

  “I need the break. And I did mean to ask you. Wasn’t it odd how the kitten greeted Delia Cochrane?”

  One eye opened. “I wasn’t in the room. Remember?”

  Actually, I hadn’t been sure where she was. “Well, it was. After all those days of crying ‘Mama,’ the kitten called her ‘Delia.’”

  “Who knows? I got a whiff of that woman. Her perfume is enough to knock the sense out of anyone. Maybe the kitten got over her. After all, we’ve been taking care of her.”

  Had Wallis begun to soften toward the marmalade kitten? She shot me a look. “Forget about it.”

  “Sorry, but what about the Persian?”