Normally she would have brought Queenie in sooner, but between the craziness of acquiring the rescue and the fact that her regular vet was out of town, it had taken her a few extra days to get the appointment. As it was, she’d had to settle for seeing Dr. Burnett’s new partner, who she’d never met before.
After a brief stint in the waiting room, where she had to answer the usual awkward questions about how it felt to win the lottery and was it true she had really bought the animal sanctuary, one of the techs led them into an exam room where the kitten was placed on a large metal table and weighed. Kari’s heart contracted when she saw how tiny Queenie looked. She was already so in love with the bossy little cat, she couldn’t bear it if the vet found something wrong with her.
The exam room, identical to the other four in the wing, was a rectangular box with no windows and simple white-painted walls. The front of the room had a door that opened onto the waiting area, and the back had a matching door that led to the space where the vets and techs worked. Kari had been back there, so she knew there were machines to examine blood and urine samples, cupboards full of medicines and supplies, the actual surgery where they performed more complicated medical procedures, and cages for sick or recovering animals.
The side walls were covered with cupboards filled with supplies for the exam room, as well as posters on animal care, a screen for viewing X-rays, and a whiteboard. An exam table that could be lowered or raised depending on the size of the animal took up most of the space, and a computer with its keyboard sat on a counter so the vet could make notes or check previous ones during the exam.
A couple of minutes later, the rear door to the room opened and a tall man with slightly shaggy red hair and twinkling blue eyes strolled into the room. He looked at the chart in his hand and then back at Kari.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Dr. Angus McCoy. And this must be Queenie.” He beamed at the cat. “Aren’t you a gorgeous girl?”
Queenie purred, clearly approving of this new admirer.
“Hi, Dr. McCoy, I’m Kari Stuart.” Kari held out her hand and then hesitated for a second, hearing her own words.
The vet laughed. He was tall and gangly, like a teenage boy who hadn’t quite grown into his body yet, although he was probably about Kari’s age or a bit older. He had an easygoing aura about him that probably helped to put his patients—and their owners—at ease, and wore a white lab coat over typical medical scrubs in a pleasant light blue color. A stethoscope was slung around his neck. “Yes, I’ve heard all the Dr. McCoy jokes. Don’t worry, I’m used to it. So, I see here that you usually see Dr. Burnett. You have other cats?
“I do,” Kari nodded. “A gigantic orange guy with extra toes named Westley and his brother Robert, who is an orange-striped boy of a more normal size. They’re both five. Plus I have a mutt dog of dubious parentage named Fred.” Fred looked like a cross between a German shepherd and a border collie and possibly about three other things. He had perked-up ears, a pointy nose, and an unerring ability to sniff out foods he wasn’t supposed to eat and then eat them.
Dr. McCoy cocked his head. “Westley and Robert? I don’t suppose Robert is short for the Dread Pirate Roberts.”
Kari laughed, delighted to meet a fellow Princess Bride fan. “It is!”
The vet’s returning grin revealed a dangerously attractive dimple. “I don’t remember a Fred in The Princess Bride, though.”
“Ah, no,” Kari said. “Fred is named after Fred Rogers. You know, from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.”
“Because he’s kind and patient?” Dr. McCoy asked.
Kari bit her lip, trying not to smile. “Actually, it was because he kept destroying my sweaters when I first got him. I figured that if he had a thing for sweaters, that was something he had in common with Mr. Rogers.”
The vet chuckled. “Well, let’s take a look at this little lady,” he said. “The chart says she was a stray?” As he talked, he gently examined the kitten, taking her temperature (she was not amused), checking her ears, and looking at her teeth, among other things.
“She’d been hanging around my old apartment for about a week,” Kari said. “I finally managed to catch her and take her to the shelter. But they were full, and besides, well . . .”
“You decided to keep her,” he guessed.
“More like she decided to keep me,” Kari admitted. “But the outcome is the same. So, how does she look?”
“Pretty darn perfect,” Dr. McCoy said, eliciting another purr. From the kitten, not Kari, although she would probably have done it if she could. “We’ll test her for FIV and feline leukemia just to be on the safe side, but I suspect all she needs are her shots, a dose of flea medicine, and deworming, since most cats that have lived on the streets for a while pick up parasites of one kind or another. I’m assuming you’ll want to make an appointment to get her spayed as well, since the last thing we need is more unwanted kittens.”
“Definitely,” Kari said with feeling. “I had no idea how bad the problem was until recently. The woman I talked to at the shelter really opened my eyes.”
“It’s a continuing battle,” he agreed. “I used to volunteer my time at the Serenity Sanctuary, doing low-cost spay and neuters. I’d just moved to the area, and it seemed like a good way to start making a contribution to my new home. It’s really too bad they had to close.”
Kari felt a flush warm her face. “Uh, it’s actually reopening, if you’d be interested in coming back. Once we’re up and running again, it would be a great service to be able to offer.”
Dr. McCoy raised an eyebrow. “We?” he said. “Are you involved somehow?”
“I bought the place recently,” she said. “I’m having some work done on it and Daisy is showing me the ropes, but we hope to reopen in a few weeks.”
“That would be great,” he said. “And I’d be happy to help.” He gave her that smile again and Kari felt an unaccustomed flutter in her stomach that for once wasn’t nerves. Queenie meowed, voicing her own opinion on the subject.
“Great,” Kari repeated. And not just because he seemed really nice and was kind of cute. “Daisy told me that when the place is full, there are always sick kittens and people bringing in injured animals they’ve rescued. We have a volunteer who is training to be a vet tech, but I suspect there are going to be lots of cases that are beyond her ability or skill level.”
“No doubt,” the vet said. “Although you’ll be surprised how many things you can learn to deal with on your own.” He grinned. “Daisy is quite the marvel. She gives shots, administers medicine and subcutaneous fluids, even assists with surgeries if she has to. I suppose that running the place on a shoestring, she had to do everything she could not to have the extra expense of calling in a vet. You’ll probably end up being just as capable.”
Kari felt another unexpected flutter, this time at the thought of mastering new skills that would make a difference in the lives of the animals that would be under her care. “I can’t wait,” she said, surprised to find how much she meant it.
The rear door swung open again and a vet tech Kari knew from previous visits came in, carrying a couple of syringes.
“I’ve prepped the shots for you, Doc,” the young woman said, placing the shots on the table next to the kitten. Her dark brown hair was chopped off in a cute pixie cut that was undoubtedly also practical for dealing with animals every day, and her scrubs lent her a professional air. “Oh, hi, Kari. This is a new one, isn’t it?” She bent down to scratch Queenie under the chin and was rewarded with a quiet purr.
“Thank you, Padma,” Dr. McCoy said, administering the first vaccination so efficiently that Queenie barely had time to look indignant. “Meet Queenie.”
“Hi, Queenie,” the tech said. “Kari, is it true that you bought that run-down sanctuary place? I heard they found Bill Myers up there last night, dead as a doornail.”
Kari wo
ndered how on earth people in larger towns got their news, since they probably didn’t have the magical telegraph of the small-town gossip factory. And also, why a doornail was considered dead. But that was a lesser issue. She shuddered, seeing the dog warden’s corpse flash before her eyes, with its stunned expression and blue-tinged skin.
“Yes,” she said, in answer to the first question. “I did buy it. I’m planning to reopen it as soon as possible. Also yes, Queenie and I found Mr. Myers out by the dog yard.” She patted the cat, holding her still while the vet gave her the second shot, at least as much for her own comfort as for the kitten’s.
“Is it true that he was murdered?” Padma asked in a hushed tone.
“It seems so,” Kari said. “Unfortunately, Deputy Carter seems to think I’m the number one suspect, because I got into an argument with the dog warden outside court last week.”
Dr. McCoy snorted, causing one lock of red hair to flip down over his eyes. “I’ve only been in town for about nine months, but I can already tell you that if that’s their criteria for possible murder suspects, the police are going to have a very long list to work from. I’ve heard complaints about that man from dozens of my clients who own dogs.”
Kari gnawed on her lip. “Did any of them have dogs that were accused of being dangerous? Daisy and I were at court because Myers said that one of the shelter dogs, Buster, bit someone when he got loose last month. That was before I got involved, but I’ve met him and he seems really sweet.”
“Any dog can be dangerous under the right circumstances,” Dr. McCoy said. “If they are startled or perceive themselves to be under attack, for instance. But most real problem dogs have a history of acting out. I actually met Buster when I was volunteering at the shelter, and he seemed perfectly well behaved.”
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to sign a statement for the judge saying so,” Kari asked hopefully.
“I’d be happy to,” he said. “But I doubt it would do any good. Dr. Burnett had a client whose dog was accused of ravaging the neighboring farmer’s sheep. The dog was a very valuable purebred Irish wolfhound, and the client had him outside in the yard, which had a tall, sturdy fence, but the dog kept getting loose somehow.” He shook his head ruefully.
“Dr. Burnett told me she went to court and spoke on the dog’s behalf, but the neighbor and Bill Myers insisted the wolfhound was an animal killer, and the judge was forced to order the dog surrendered and put to sleep. It was right when I first joined the practice, and I know Dr. Burnett said the client was absolutely furious. Dr. Burnett was relieved that Myers had his own vet to take care of things, and that she didn’t have to do it.”
He patted Queenie one more time and handed her to Padma. “Take her out back and draw some blood for the usual FIV and feline leukemia tests, please. Unless something shows up, we’re all done here. It was very nice to meet you, Queenie. And you too, Ms. Stuart.”
“Kari, please,” she said as the tech walked out the back door with the kitten, who looked as though she owned the place. “After all, if you’re going to be volunteering at the shelter, we’re going to be working together from time to time.”
“Good point,” he said. “Then it’s Angus. Let me know when you have the place open again, but feel free to call me if you have any problems with the animals you’ve still got there.” He dug out a business card and wrote down what looked like a personal cell number. “Seriously, call any time. And good luck with Buster. He’s a great dog.”
“He is,” Kari said, thinking about the story he’d told her. If the owner of the Irish wolfhound was as angry as Angus said he was, maybe he had finally snapped and taken his revenge. “I don’t suppose you can tell me the name of the man whose dog got taken away.”
Angus shook his head. “Confidentiality,” he said. “But I can assure you he’s not the only one who’s lost a dog since Bill Myers took over. I don’t know if the man was just overzealous, or if an unusual number of animals happened to become problems during his tenure. Either way, there are a lot of people who won’t be sorry he’s gone.”
* * *
* * *
Padma came out a few minutes later with a disgruntled-looking Queenie tucked back in her carrier, as well as the paperwork from the visit. “Here she is,” the tech said. “All the blood tests are clear, so you just need to make an appointment to get her spayed and you’ll be all set.” She glanced around, as if to make sure that the vet was out of earshot.
“I heard you talking about Steve Clark,” Padma said in a quiet voice. “It was terrible what happened to poor Ranger. If that dog was a sheep killer, I’m a natural blonde.” She snorted. “It’s not really a secret. You could have found out by asking anyone in town. Clark spent weeks spouting off about it to anyone who would listen. He was absolutely beside himself when Myers seized the dog. I heard Mr. Clark actually threatened the dog warden. Can’t say I blame him either. I know you’d not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but a lot of our clients had problems with the man.”
“Was he just too serious about doing his job?” Kari asked, clutching Queenie’s carrier a little closer to her chest. It was all too easy to envision someone watching in horror and heartbreak as their beloved pet was driven away to certain doom. The very thought made her shudder in sympathy.
Padma shrugged, bitterness coloring her otherwise pleasant features. “Honestly, I think he was on some kind of power trip. Or maybe he was just a mean, nasty man. I’m only surprised it took this long for someone to murder him.” She noticed Kari’s wince. “Sorry. I forgot you found the body. That must have been horrible.”
“It was,” Kari said. “I’m still having nightmares. Of course, being the police’s number one suspect isn’t much fun either.”
Padma gave her a sympathetic look and patted her on the shoulder before turning to leave. “Well, if it is any consolation, I expect you’ve got lots of company, Steve Clark included. If anyone wanted to kill Bill Myers, it was him.” She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. “You know, he only lives over the hill from you, on County Route 12. He could have gotten to the shelter pretty easily. Not that I’m accusing him of anything. I mean, he’s a college professor, right?”
* * *
* * *
Kari mulled over what Padma had said as she and Queenie drove back home down curving sun-dappled country roads bordered by fields full of cows on one side and young corn on the other. The hills were green and the sunshine seemed to turn everything to gold. Lakeview was beautiful all year round, but Kari thought June was one of the times when it really shone. The tourists clearly agreed, since she kept seeing cars with out-of-state plates and the couple of bed-and-breakfasts she passed both had No Vacancy signs out.
Kari wasn’t sure she agreed with Padma that someone being a college professor automatically made them above reproach, although you certainly didn’t hear about a lot of them turning out to be serial killers. As she neared Goose Hollow Road, she saw the turnoff to County Route 12 and made a sudden impulsive turn.
For a woman who prided herself on having finally reached a point in her life where she thought everything out in advance, she sure was taking a lot of leaps these days. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she said to Queenie. “I’m sure you’d rather go straight home and get out of that carrier.”
The black kitten yawned at her, then closed her eyes.
“A lot of help you are,” Kari said. As always on these rural roads, the houses were spaced fairly far apart from each other, but it wasn’t long before she came to a mailbox that said CLARK. The long gravel driveway led up to a neat white clapboard house with a corrugated red metal roof. To the side there was a sturdy wire fence, within which could be seen a large doghouse designed to look like a miniature of the bigger home. An empty water bowl sat forlornly in front of it.
Over the curve of the hill, Kari could just make out some barbed-wire fencing and the distant
white dots that signified sheep. An occasional plaintive baaa drifted toward her on the wind.
She turned off the car and sat there for a minute, wondering what the heck she thought she was doing. It was the middle of the day, and Clark probably wasn’t even home. And if he was, he probably wouldn’t want to talk to some stranger about what was clearly a sore subject.
But as she reached out to start the Toyota up again, Queenie suddenly sat up and meowed. A tall man with sandy blond hair came out of the house and walked down the drive. As he got closer, Kari could see that he had blue eyes behind black plastic glasses and wore a short-sleeved tan checked shirt and a pair of chinos. In short, he looked like a professor.
She got out of the car, still wondering exactly what she was doing there. “Hi,” she said. “I’m sorry to just drop by, but I was driving past and wondered if you’d be willing to spare a minute to talk to me. My name is Kari Stuart. We don’t know each other, but we’re sort of neighbors now. I bought the Serenity Sanctuary down the road a ways.”
“Oh, sure,” Steve said, holding out his hand to shake hers. “I heard someone had taken over the place and was giving it a much-needed facelift. Nice to meet you.” His high forehead wrinkled. “Uh, what did you want to talk to me about? Are you looking for donations?”
Kari laughed. “No, not at all. It’s kind of awkward, really. I wanted to talk to you about Bill Myers.”
The smile dropped away from Clark’s face and the warmth fled his eyes. “That bastard,” he said. “I heard he died. I won’t pretend I’m sorry.”
Yikes. “Er, yes. He was killed at the sanctuary. In fact, I was the one who found his body.” She shuddered again, and thought, I can’t keep doing that every time I talk to someone about his death. “I’m afraid I’m the sheriff’s prime suspect, since he was trying to dig under our fence at the time he died.”
Furbidden Fatality Page 6