by Laura Scott
“I’m not surprised.” Harriet apparently wasn’t modest when it came to her own cooking. “Come in, both of you. Dinner will be ready shortly.”
“Oh, I really shouldn’t stay,” Ally said, even though her mouth was watering from the delicious scent of Italian food coming from the kitchen.
“I’ve made lasagna, complete with homemade garlic bread.” Harriet preened. “There’s plenty for you, Ally.”
“Okay.” She knew she should have tried harder to resist, but homemade garlic bread sounded incredible. She hoped she wouldn’t have to unbutton her jeans after dinner.
“So what time will you be coming by on Monday to pick me up,” Lydia asked with a smile. “I’m so looking forward to helping you in the clinic, Ally.”
“Nine o’clock too early?”
“I’ll be ready.”
Lydia’s excitement was sweet, but Ally suspected that, like Gramps, the long days would tire Lydia out. Thankfully, they’d all have Sunday off. She’d have to come up with a better schedule next week. Maybe having the widows—Gramps, Lydia, and Tillie—each work one day, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, wouldn’t be too hard on them.
After dinner, and after Ally had been forced to undo the top button on her jeans, Lydia showed off her knitting project while Tillie suckered her into a game of cribbage.
It was late and dark by the time Ally headed for home. It was one of the best Saturday nights she’d spent in a long time, but she battled a wave of guilt as she thought of Roxy being alone for that long.
Bright lights came up fast behind her, making her hold up her hand against the glare. Why did people insist on driving with their high beams on?
The lights were close. Too close. She frowned and squinted, trying to see what kind of vehicle it was. Something high, she guessed a truck or maybe an SUV.
Slam!
Her ancient Honda jolted beneath the pressure of being rear-ended. Ally fought to control the steering wheel, doing her best to stay on the road.
The lights grew brighter, and she knew the vehicle was going to hit her again. She abruptly swerved onto the other side of the road, landing partially in the ditch.
The lights swept past and quickly disappeared. She unclenched her fingers from the steering wheel, grateful the air bags hadn’t deployed.
Ignoring the pain in her neck, she fumbled for her phone and called Noah’s personal cell phone.
“Ally? What’s wrong?”
“A truck or SUV hit me from behind,” she said in a quivering voice. “Sent me into the ditch.”
“I’ll be right there. Don’t move, unless you smell gas.”
She felt disoriented but sniffed the air. “No gas.”
“I’ll be right there,” Noah repeated.
Tears pricked Ally’s eyes as she realized she’d been targeted. Hit on purpose. Because of the murder?
Why else?
The only good thing? Gramps and Roxy hadn’t been in the car with her.
Chapter Twelve
Noah’s comment about smelling gas, and remembering how car explosions were often replayed on television, sent Ally stumbling from the vehicle. She made sure she had her phone and her keys, the two most important items.
Goosebumps rippled along her skin, despite the warm summer air. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms while watching the road, hoping the driver of the truck or SUV that had struck her hadn’t decided to turn around to finish the job.
Gramps’ words echoed in her mind.
We just need to figure out which one of them is capable of murder.
Everything seemed so surreal. First the rock striking her door and now this. The first could easily be explained away as a prank.
But not running her off the road. No, that had been a cruel and deliberate act.
A set of headlights made her stomach clench with fear a split second before she noticed the flashing red light on the dashboard.
Noah.
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, determined to stay strong. Noah’s dark SUV came to a jarring stop, and he immediately jumped from the car and hurried toward her.
“Ally?” The concern in his tone was impossible to ignore.
“I—I’m all right.” Except she really wasn’t.
Noah put a hand on her shoulder, and the warmth of his fingers made her long to throw herself into his arms. “Your car is on the wrong side of the road.”
“I—I did that on purpose.” She couldn’t seem to speak normally. “T—to avoid being hit a second time.”
“A second time? Are you sure?” Noah searched her gaze in the darkness.
“I’m sure.”
“Ally.” The care in his tone was surprising, but even more so was his abrupt embrace. “I’m so glad you weren’t seriously hurt.”
“Me too.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt, and she couldn’t help but cling to him, absorbing his strength. His woodsy aftershave made her dizzy, or maybe it was being rear-ended. Either way, she wanted to burrow closer.
When she was a teenager, she’d fantasized about going out with him.
This was better than anything she could have imagined back then.
She would have stayed in his arms forever, but he gently eased them apart, peering at her with a frown.
“Sure you’re okay? I can call an ambulance.”
“No need, I’m fine.” She didn’t mention the soreness in her neck, because no way was she going to the hospital. They didn’t do anything for whiplash anyway, did they? “But I’m worried about my car. The air bags didn’t deploy, but I’m not sure if I damaged something along the bottom or not.”
The thought of adding another insurance deductible to her balance sheet, in addition to her property claim, almost made her burst into tears.
“Why don’t we have it towed and checked out, just to be sure. Did you see the driver?” Noah asked. “Or can you describe the car?”
“No and no.” She battled a wave of helpless frustration. “The driver had their high beams on, probably trying to blind me.” She thought back to when she’d noticed the vehicle coming up behind her. “The car was close, really close, and the headlights were square, not round. Oh, and they were high, like from a truck or SUV.”
“Good memory,” Noah said with admiration. “I can see you’ve inherited your grandfather’s keen observation skills.”
“For all the good it will do,” she said, secretly pleased with his kind words. “It was too dark to see the vehicle color, make, or model.”
“Square headlights can help me narrow that down,” Noah assured her. “Anything else you remember?”
“No.” She sighed and looked at her car. From here it looked fine, the tires were good, no dents from what she could see. The hatch worked, which was important for carting Roxy around.
The ancient Honda was old, with over a hundred thousand miles on it, but the car had been a very dependable ride.
She hoped and prayed she wouldn’t have to buy a replacement.
“Let me call that tow truck, we’ll want to examine your car more closely to see if there’s any paint transfer from the vehicle that hit you. And I’ll drive you home.” Noah must have sensed her despair. “You’ll have to call your insurance company on Monday morning.”
“Yeah, while I still have one,” she muttered glumly. “At the rate I’m making claims, I’m pretty sure they’ll drop me like a hot potato.”
“This crash wasn’t your fault,” Noah reminded her. “And there may not even be much damage.”
She grimaced. “Maybe not, but unless you find who did this, and who threw the rock at my door, all the repairs are the responsibility of my insurance.”
“I’ll find the person responsible.” Noah’s tone rang with confidence.
She wanted to believe him—after all, he was a detective. And she felt certain he was good at his job.
But she secretly feared the murderer might get away with it.
“Come on, Ally.” Noah took h
er hand and led her toward his SUV. He opened the passenger door for her, and she felt certain he would have lifted her up into the seat if she hadn’t gotten in under her own power.
Noah slid behind the wheel, then executed a U-turn to take her back into town. “I forgot to ask, where’s Roxy?”
“I left her behind, thankfully.” She shivered. “Mostly because I knew Harriet would invite me to stay for dinner, and she doesn’t like dogs.”
“Harriet?” His expression cleared. “Oh yes, one of the widows your grandfather shares a home with.”
“Harriet’s the cook, Tillie plays cribbage and poker, and Lydia—the one you spoke to about the meeting with Marty Shawlin—knits.”
“And your grandfather solves crimes.”
“Not really,” Ally protested, thinking that he hadn’t solved any crime—yet. “He watches too much television and reads too many true crime novels, which isn’t the worst hobby on the planet.” Although she would have given anything for Gramps to pick up a new hobby. Didn’t people his age like to play horseshoes? Maybe watch a little golf? Go bowling?
Something safe?
“Hmm.” Noah glanced at her. “I’m going to be honest with you. I’m really worried about you and your grandfather, Ally. What happened back there?” He jerked his thumb toward where they’d left her Honda. “That was another warning, a much stronger and dangerous one, telling you to stop asking questions about Marty’s murder.”
“Yeah, don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure that out,” she said dryly. “And what can I do? Besides hogtie Gramps to his bedroom? It’s not my fault he fancies himself some sort of amateur sleuth, and no matter what I say, he seems determined to help you solve the case.”
It was too dark to see, but she suspected the muscle at the corner of his left eye had begun to twitch again. “I don’t need his help, or yours.”
Noah pulled over and parked in front of her clinic. She pushed open the door, then glanced back at him. “You don’t need or want our help? Fine. Then hurry up and solve this thing, before anyone else gets hurt.”
She stepped away from the vehicle and slammed the door, feeling better after venting her frustration. Using her key, she unlocked the clinic door and went inside. Roxy immediately began to bark.
“I’m coming, girl.” The poor dog had been left alone longer than Ally had intended, so she hurried up the stairs, and was nearly bowled over by Roxy’s enthusiastic greeting.
“Aw, it’s good to see you, too. Yes, it is.” She lavished the boxer with attention, then found the dog’s leash. Ally led her down the stairs and outside. Noah’s SUV was gone, and she let out a heavy sigh.
“Tell me this, Roxy, why can’t men be more like dogs?”
Roxy didn’t answer.
* * *
Nothing much happened in Willow Bluff on Sundays, and that particular Sunday was no exception. Ally left a message with her insurance company, figuring she wouldn’t hear anything until the following day but was surprised when her agent called her back.
“You were rear-ended and run off the road.” The agent’s deadpan voice made it clear he didn’t believe her.
“Yes. I notified the police, and they’re looking into it.”
“I see.” Clearly, he didn’t. “I’ll need a copy of the police report. And I need to know how much damage was done to the car.”
“There may not be much damage,” she said, hoping fervently that was true. “The air bag didn’t deploy, and the tires seemed okay.”
“Are you sure you didn’t swerve to avoid a deer?”
“Positive.” She held onto her temper with an effort. “I’ll get a copy of the police report as soon as possible, okay?”
“I can’t wait.” The agent clicked off without saying anything more.
Idiot. She’d never once gotten so much as a speeding ticket, why would she suddenly lose control of her car? She blew out a heavy sigh and hoped Noah’s team found paint transfer or something that would prove she hadn’t done this to herself.
The last thing she needed was to go from Hot Pants to Calamity Jane. Then again, she might already have.
She left a message on Noah’s work number about needing the police report. No more calling his personal number. She needed to keep a casually friendly relationship between them.
The day passed by slowly. Roxy kept her company, and she found herself wondering if Marty’s ex-wife, Sheila Young, would be willing to sell her the dog.
After all, the woman didn’t sound very enthusiastic about coming to pick up the animal.
“It’s you and me today, Rox.” Ally smoothed her hand over her golden-brown fur. “Just you and me.”
Funny how quickly she’d gotten used to having someone sharing the clinic with her. She wasn’t open for routine hours on Sundays but decided to clean as usual just in case she received another emergency call. She’d had two in the past week, which was promising. After cleaning the exam rooms, she made her way over to the desk where Gramps had worked the past two days.
He’d mentioned something about a grooming appointment and another immunization scheduled for Monday. She searched the area, looking for his notes. She found one, but it was nearly impossible to read.
“T-po at ten.” She frowned, looked at Roxy. “Any idea what t-po means?”
Roxy cocked her head, her gaze inquisitive.
She reached for the phone and dialed Gramps’ cell phone. Even though she tried to be prepared, she winced when his voice boomed in her ear.
“HELLO?”
“Gramps, it’s me, Ally. Do I have a grooming appointment at ten tomorrow morning?”
“ALLY! I’M GLAD YOU CALLED! ARE YOU OKAY?”
She dropped her forehead into her free hand, thinking that her headache from being jostled in the car would be much better without his yelling. She’d called earlier to let Lydia know she didn’t have a car and wouldn’t be able to pick her up to work at the clinic on Monday. The widow had wasted no time in filling Gramps in on the news. “I’m fine, Gramps. Noah drove me home, and he’s working the case.”
“GOOD! I’M GLAD YOUR DETECTIVE WAS THERE FOR YOU.”
“Gramps, please don’t yell. I called because you wrote something on a note, the letter T and a hyphen then the letters P O. What does that mean?”
There was a moment of blessed silence as he tried to remember. “TOY POODLE. SOME WOMAN WANTS YOU TO GROOM HER TOY POODLE.”
Gee, why didn’t she think of that? “Okay, thanks Gramps. Didn’t you also say something about a dog coming in for shots?”
“DID I? CAN’T REMEMBER.”
Great. She rubbed her temple harder. “Okay, never mind. You’re going to stay at home with the Willow Bluff Widows, today, right? I think we could all use a day of rest.”
“I WILL. I’LL CALL YOU BACK IF I REMEMBER WHAT KIND OF DOG IS COMING IN FOR SHOTS.”
“Thanks, Gramps, but there’s no need. I’ll figure it out. Take care and we’ll talk later.”
“BYE, ALLY.”
The rest of the day passed without a single call from anyone needing veterinary services.
She also didn’t hear from Noah, but no doubt he had the day off as well. For all she knew, he might be spending some time with a girlfriend. Something she could ask Erica about, yet even the mere thought was far more depressing than it should be.
All the more reason to keep him firmly in the friend zone.
* * *
The next morning, her neck didn’t hurt any worse than the day before, which gave her hope the rest of the day would turn out to be a good one as well. After checking her clinic supplies and inventory, she settled behind the desk.
No car meant having none of the widows working as a receptionist. Since she’d be alone with four-legged patients coming in, she took Roxy upstairs.
“Behave, okay?” She gave the dog a good rub, wondering if Sheila Young would show up to pick up Roxy later today as promised.
Ally kinda hoped she wouldn’t.
/> Back at the desk, she went through her client list, searching for poodles. There were several, but two of them didn’t specify if they were toy or standard-sized poodles.
A short, rather rotund man entered her clinic at just before ten, holding a white toy poodle in his arms. He glanced around with a frown, maybe wondering where the rest of her patients were. He introduced himself. “I’m Jerry Stevens, and this is Vivian.”
“Hello, I’m Dr. Ally Winter.” She smiled warmly at him. “I’m also a certified groomer. What would you like me to do with Vivian today?”
He gave her an odd look. “Do with her? I thought you left me a message about her needing shots?”
“Oh, of course!” Ally inwardly winced, vaguely remembering all the phone calls she’d made the previous week. So much had happened since then she’d completely forgotten. “I’m so sorry for the confusion, I have a poodle coming in to be groomed, as well. Yes, Vivian needs her shots. Why don’t you take her into exam room number one and I’ll be with you in a moment?”
Jerry hesitated, and she wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d turned and left, but he didn’t. He carried Vivian into the exam room, while she frantically searched her files.
There it was, Vivian, the poodle, belonged to Josie and Jerry Stevens. Again, no notes left behind by Dr. Greg Hanson. She quickly added toy poodle to the description, then went into the back to get the vaccinations that she needed.
Upon entering the exam room she found Vivian on the stainless steel table, visibly trembling.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Ally murmured. She offered Vivian a treat, but the dog turned her nose up, leaving it untouched. Better to get this over and done with in a hurry. “Okay, please hold her still, Mr. Stevens. This won’t take but a moment.”
“I know.” He looked so sad as he held onto Vivian. “This is why I tend to put off these appointments.”
“Understandable.” She quickly gave the injection, causing Vivian to yelp and try to scramble away. Her owner held her firmly, which was a good thing. “Maybe now she’ll take the treat?”
Jerry picked it up and offered it to the dog. Vivian daintily took the treat. “She only eats out of my hand,” he confessed.