Even though I knew that the latter was much more likely, the depth of Kimberly’s anguish made me yearn to help her. If figuring out this one thing would give her some comfort, that alone made it worth doing.
I ran through the list of things I had to get done in the next few weeks, meanwhile massaging the taut muscles in my forehead with two fingers. In addition to making house calls all over Long Island, doing my weekly TV spot, and keeping my day-to-day life from disintegrating into chaos, I had to schedule fittings at the dressmaker, write thank-you notes for the steady stream of gifts that kept arriving, and indulge my future mother-in-law by agonizing over silly details like place cards and ice sculpture.
And of course there was the fact that Nick, my betrothed, had never been crazy about me poking around murder investigations. Something about me squandering my all-too-precious time, not to mention nearly getting killed myself on a few occasions.
Still.
What’s that old saying? I thought. If you want something done, give it to a busy person? I suppose I can squeeze in a few phone calls and find a couple of spare minutes to play around on the Internet. And I haven’t been to the New York Zoo in ages.
You have to do something, I thought. You owe her.
And given how tormented I was by the memory of Erin’s frantic early-morning phone call and the horror of what had happened next, I knew I owed it to myself.
After yesterday’s devastating events, it was a relief to throw myself into my veterinary practice once again. Yet today was the first time Sunny would be accompanying me on my house calls, and I was a little nervous about how things would go.
I was relieved that my first appointment of the day was with one of my favorite patients. Toby, a black toy poodle, was the sole housemate of a single woman in her mid-forties named Meryl Lytle. She was completely devoted to him, and I couldn’t blame her. Toby certainly managed to put a smile on my face every time I saw him.
Even pulling out his folder made me chuckle. On those that contain the records of dogs that tend to bite, I put a red dot on the outside as a warning. But on Toby’s, I’d written the word Houdini. I didn’t want to forget that this six-pound imp was an accomplished escape artist. On more than one occasion, he’d managed to wriggle out of Meryl’s arms and disappear somewhere inside my van. He also had a way of helping himself to anything he could fit in his mouth, then slipping out the door without anyone noticing that he’d filched a souvenir.
“Toby’s a real cutie-pie,” I told Sunny as I pulled up my van in front of his owner’s house. “But make sure you keep an eye on him. The little scamp is always getting into something.”
“I’m on it,” Sunny assured me cheerfully.
As Meryl carried him into my van, Toby was chomping on a plastic toy in the shape of a yellow-and-red flower. That didn’t stop him from wagging his tail with alarming enthusiasm as he desperately tried to squirm out of her arms. He acted so excited you’d have thought he’d just come upon a couple of long-lost friends.
“Hey, Toby,” I greeted him, unable to resist giving him a quick cuddle. “How’s my special pal doing?”
“He’s great, except for his foot,” Meryl replied anxiously. She was wearing a yellow T-shirt with a picture of a black poodle that was almost as cute as Toby. “It’s like I told you on the phone. He seems really reluctant to put any weight on it.”
“Let’s get him up on the examining table,” I said. As his tiny feet skittered across the smooth stainless steel surface, Sunny helped steady him. “Which foot is it?”
“The left rear,” Meryl said. “I guess I should also mention that lately he’s seemed kind of subdued.”
Sunny laughed. “If this is Toby when he’s subdued, I can’t imagine what he’s like when he’s feeling one hundred percent!”
After checking the poodle’s eyes, teeth, and ears, then palpating his organs, I said, “I’m going to see what’s going on with that foot—and he’s not going to like it. Sunny, would you mind holding Toby’s head so he can’t bite?”
“He never bites!” Meryl insisted.
“It’s just a precaution.” I knew that even a dog with the sweetest temperament could react badly when someone caused him pain, even with the best intentions.
“Hey, Toby,” Sunny cooed, holding the dog’s head with one hand and wrapping the other around his compact body to keep him from sliding off the examining table. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetie. I promise.”
Once I knew that Toby was under Sunny’s control, I gently ran my finger along his ailing foot. “So far, this is what a normal leg feels like. . . .”
But when I touched the foot pad, Toby let out a yelp.
“Steady, boy,” Sunny said softly. “You’re okay.”
I turned to Meryl. “He’s extremely sensitive to that area, which might indicate a broken toe. I could try to get an X-ray, but it’s really difficult to get a good one. We usually just leave it alone and recommend a strict rest period. We could also splint him for four to six weeks, checking him after a week or so.
“In addition, I recommend a nonsteroid anti-inflammatory. The only downside is that it can feel so much better that he’ll want to walk on it, so you’ll have to keep him from going up or down any stairs.”
“I’m up for trying the splint and the anti-inflammatory,” Meryl said, her face tense with worry. “I want to do everything I can to help my little guy.”
I set Toby up with a plastic splint, then gave his owner a bottle of Rimadyl tablets.
“Give him one a day with food,” I instructed. “And I think it’s smart to go with the splint. The benefit is that there’s no pressure on the bone, which will help it heal faster.”
Once we’d finished our paperwork, Toby seemed happy to be on his way out. As for me, I was also pleased, mainly because of the way my new assistant had performed.
“Thanks, Sunny,” I said. “You really did a good job.”
She beamed as if I’d just paid her the best compliment she’d ever received in her life.
By the end of the day, I felt like my old self again. There’s something about concentrating on nothing but the four-legged creatures that have come to me for help that always makes me feel calm, collected, and in control.
Those feelings vanished the moment Sunny and I walked into my cottage and I was suddenly confronted with the chaos I’d left behind.
Early that morning, before leaving for my meeting with Kimberly, I’d started piling up the things I planned to bring over to the Big House on Friday. Clothes, mostly, which at the moment were strewn across the back of a chair, but also some work-related possessions.
As I’d opened drawers and closets, I also came across a few things I’d shoved out of the way ages ago, planning to attend to them one of these days. But somehow, “one of these days” never seemed to roll around. Once I’d pulled them out to see what they were, I didn’t have time to put them away.
“Sorry about the mess,” I said, halfheartedly shoving aside a box of old cards, letters, and other mementos I’d left in the middle of the living room.
“No problem,” Sunny assured me. “Hey, what’s this?” She peered inside the cardboard carton taking up half the couch. It contained my collection of antique bank statements, invoices printed off my computer, and handwritten notes jotted down on pages ripped out of notebooks and in some cases the backs of envelopes.
Busted, I thought.
“Uh, just some papers,” I replied. I wasn’t exactly airing my dirty laundry in public. It was more like I was airing my aversion to careful record-keeping. “Nothing important. If it’s in the way, just stick it wherever you can find a place.”
But Sunny was already pawing through the box. “These are your financial records, aren’t they?”
“No, they’re . . .” I decided to come clean. “Yes. That’s exactly what they are.”
“I could straighten out them out for you, if you’d like,” Sunny offered cheerfully. “Put all these loose pieces
of paper in order, tally up the figures, that kind of thing.”
I blinked, thinking, Why didn’t I think of that?
“Isn’t it time for you to go home?” I asked, not quite willing to believe this was really happening.
“Yeah, but that’s okay. I’d much rather learn more about running a business. Besides,” she added, grimacing, “it’s my dad’s turn to cook dinner. That means veggie burgers.”
I couldn’t believe how much I was enjoying having an assistant. This was only the second day and she’d already proven that she was worth her weight in gold. More, since Sunny looked as if she didn’t weigh much more than Max and Lou combined.
Aside from having just been freed from a hateful chore I probably would never have gotten around to anyway, I now had a chance to give some serious thought to what might have been going on in Erin’s life. I decided to start by learning a bit more about zoos.
I sat down at the dining room table that doubles as a desk, turned on my laptop, and Googled “history of zoos.” I clicked the various websites that came up and began piecing together the story they told.
I learned that Egyptian Queen Hatshepsut built the first zoo around 1500 B.C. Five hundred years later, Wen Wang, the emperor of China, constructed a huge zoo called the Garden of Intelligence. Other zoos sprang up in China, as well as in India and northern Africa. But as was the case with the earliest collections of animals, they were built by wealthy individuals whose main purpose was showing off. The one exception was the ancient Greeks, who created zoos to promote the study of animals. They were also open to the public.
In Europe, zoos began gaining popularity when explorers who traveled to the New World brought back animals that no one had ever seen before. The oldest one still in existence is the Vienna Zoo in Austria, which the royal family, the Hapsburgs, created in 1753. In 1794, Europe’s first public zoo opened in Paris, the Ménagerie du Jardin des Plantes. In 1828, the London Zoological Gardens was established so scientists could study animals. In 1847, it opened to the public and was the first facility that was called a zoo. In 1860, Australia’s first zoo opened in Melbourne.
The first zoo in the United States, the Central Park Zoo, also opened around then. It was believed to have started when workers at the park were given a few animals, including a bear, as a gift. It quickly became a popular attraction.
In 1899, New York got its second zoo, the Bronx Zoo. Then called the New York Zoological Park, it was created by the Wildlife Conservation Society, an organization that was founded by such movers and shakers as Teddy Roosevelt and Henry Fairfield Osborn, then curator of the city’s natural history museum. The WCS was one of the first conservation organizations in the country, meaning that conserving wildlife was one of its top priorities.
I was about to hunt down the website of Long Island’s own New York Zoo when a knock at the door interrupted my concentration.
“Want me to get that?” Sunny offered.
“That’s okay,” I replied, figuring I was going to have to deal with whoever it was myself anyway.
I opened the door and found Marcus Scruggs grinning at me. Or maybe leering is a better word, since the man can’t seem to stand within fifty feet of any female without looking as if he’s imagining her naked.
I’d first met Marcus when I was applying to vet school. Since he was a Cornell alum who lived nearby, I’d looked him up, hoping he’d be a mentor. Instead, he turned out to have way too much testosterone and too large an ego to see past the fact that I possessed only X chromosomes.
Even his car was a phallic symbol. Behind him, his sleek red Corvette was smack in the middle of my driveway. He’d parked it at such an odd angle that it blocked me from getting out and anyone else from getting in.
“Hey, Marcus,” I said halfheartedly, doing my best to obstruct the doorway. I hoped he’d realize it was a sign that I wasn’t exactly happy to see him.
As usual, subtlety was wasted on him.
“Hey yourself, Popper,” he said jovially, somehow managing to wriggle his way into the cottage through the three-inch space between my ribs and the door frame. And the man is over six feet tall. “Long time no see. Sorry I’ve been making myself scarce lately. But that’s the Marc Man for you. When you’re as much in demand as I am, somebody’s bound to suffer.”
“I’m kind of busy at the moment,” I said. “Exactly what brings you—?”
“Well, well, well,” he interrupted, focusing on Sunny as if he’d come to take an eye test and she was the chart. “What have we here?”
“Forget it, Marcus,” I grumbled. “She’s much too young for you.” Much too smart, too, I thought.
“I think I should be the judge of that.” He ran his fingers through his blond hair as if he was filming a hair gel commercial. “Me, and the startlingly attractive young woman in question. And this one happens to be named . . . ?”
“Sunflower,” Sunny muttered, barely glancing up from my box of records.
There were two things about her response that told me that even though he’d barely walked in the door, she was already on to him. The first was her sullen tone of voice. The second was the fact that she gave Marcus her full name, which she rarely used because she found it so embarrassing. I sensed that she was trying to turn him off before he got any more turned on.
“Sunflower, huh? Pretty. And, uh, different. Tell me, Sunflower, what brings you to Jessie’s cozy little hideaway?” He leaned against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. I half-expected his next line to be: The name is Scruggs. Marcus Scruggs.
“Work,” Sunny replied dully, appearing to be as enthralled with my last cell phone bill as she’d be if she’d just stumbled upon one of Shakespeare’s original manuscripts.
“Ah. I see you’re a woman of few words. That tells me that you’re the kind of woman who—”
“I think it tells you she’s the kind of woman who’s very busy,” I said. And not the least bit interested in dirty old men.
“In that case,” Marcus said breezily, “I’ll catch up with you later.” And he actually formed a gun with his thumb and forefinger and pretended to shoot her.
“Jessie,” Sunny said, finally looking up, pointedly only at me, “would you like me to take over doing that computer research while you finish up with your . . . guest? I know you don’t have a lot of time.”
From her overt references to both finishing up and me not having a lot of time, I could tell she hoped Marcus would take the hint and keep his visit short. I knew better.
“That’d be great,” I told her. “Let me show you what I’ve already found . . .”
Once I’d set her up with my laptop, I had no choice but to turn my attention back to my uninvited guest.
“What can I do for you, Marcus?” I asked, hoping he’d be able to tell me in twenty-five words or less.
Instead, he plopped his lanky frame down on my upholstered chair, in the process knocking my good white silk Liz Claiborne blouse on the floor. Then he stretched out his long legs, bumping against the coffee table and nearly knocking over the neat stack of gas station receipts Sunny had piled up.
“I’ve got important news, Popper,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
Somehow, I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be the least bit interested in his important news. And that I wouldn’t consider it even minimally important.
“I’ve gotten into something big,” he continued. “Really big. I decided that practicing on my own is small potatoes. Instead, I’ve gone into business with three other vets. And I’m not exaggerating an iota when I tell you that our clinic in Woodview is breaking new ground in the veterinary business.”
Personally, I’ve always hated thinking of taking care of animals’ health as a business. I much prefer thinking of it as a calling.
“The clinic is called Innovative Pet Care,” he went on, practically bursting with pride. “It’s state of the art, Popper. Completely outside the box. We’re offering services that have never b
een offered to pet owners before.”
“Like free nail clipping and complimentary flea collars?” I asked, doing my best to sound enthusiastic.
He smiled smugly. “How about a wine bar to help clients relax before and after their pets’ appointments?”
“I think I get it. You mean the clients get drunk and the dogs and cats are the designated drivers?”
Sunny, I noticed, was trying to hide a smile.
“How about hotel rooms right on the premises?” Marcus continued, barreling ahead. “Clients can stay with their pets overnight in the same room if the animal is too sick to go home.”
I had to admit that idea actually had some appeal. It was certainly an effective way of lowering an animal’s level of stress. An owner’s too.
“The most discriminating clients will probably choose the French Poodle Suite,” he explained. “That one comes with champagne, chocolate truffles, and an authentic reproduction of a Louis Quatorze bed. Or they may prefer the English Bulldog Suite, which comes with tea and scones and Monty Python DVDs.”
“Is there a Siberian Husky Suite with free ice cream and really good air-conditioning?” I asked, trying to demonstrate my appreciation for the concept.
Sunny let out a snort. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Allergies.”
As for Marcus, he chose to ignore my cleverness. “The rates are surprisingly reasonable,” he went on. “They start at four hundred a night.”
“Four hundred dollars?” I hoped he meant four hundred Milk-Bones.
“I know!” he replied, grinning. “Hard to believe we can offer our clients such a great deal, isn’t it? But wait. There’s more. Check this out.”
He whipped a glitzy dog collar out of his jacket pocket, a pink suede jobbie studded with large gleaming gems.
“Nice,” I said dryly. “Exactly what the world needs: a rhinestone dog collar.”
“Rhinestones?” Marcus looked as offended as if I’d just maligned his mother. “These aren’t rhinestones, Popper. These are diamonds. The real thing.”
“Diamonds?” I repeated. Surely I’d heard him wrong.
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