For a Good Paws

by Linda O. Johnston

  I helped Janelle for a while. She reminded me that the new, “lighter” sugar cookies were a hit, and I agreed that we should make them often.

  When only a few people remained in line to buy Icing treats I told Janelle, “I need to head out for my shift at the clinic. Do you feel you have things under control?”

  “I sure do. You go ahead.”

  I gave her a quick hug, then went back into the Barkery, where things were now a bit quieter than in Icing. I told Dinah, as she finished up with a customer, where I was going.

  “I figured,” she said. “Have fun, and we’ll see you later. Oh, and I really, really want to talk to you about what you heard at Cuppa’s about the … research.” She glanced toward the person facing her in line, and I was glad she hadn’t been more specific.

  “Sure,” I said, but I wasn’t sure at all about how we’d fit that in. I took Biscuit out of her enclosure again and leashed her for our next outing.

  We drove this time, since I was running a little late—but even more so because I figured I’d be in a big hurry to get back after my shift. I wouldn’t close the shops early, but I wanted to be sure I had plenty of time to finish up in the bakeries for the day and get to the resort to prepare for the party.

  Also, I’d packed up some of our Barkery dog treat leftovers, which I’d take to Mountaintop Rescue before returning to the shops later, and it would take much too long for Biscuit and me to do all that by walking.

  I drove my usual route: down Pacific Street, past the town square and Peak Road where Cuppa’s was. Then came Hill Street, where the Knobcone Vet Clinic was located, and it didn’t take us long to get there.

  After we parked in the rear lot, as usual, and headed through the back door, Biscuit led me down the hall to the daycare area. It was a large room with a gleaming beige linoleum floor—easy enough to clean if any visitors had an accident. Along the walls were various-sized crates, used when any of those visitors didn’t play well with others.

  I was greeted immediately by Faye, who called “Hi, Carrie” from where she sat in the middle of the floor. She was surrounded by a bunch of her charges for that day—dogs of many sizes and colors. She was in her forties and very energetic, which she had to be to ensure the pets left in her care had fun. She had assistants, of course, but I only saw Al with her that day, and not Charlie. Of course, both those young guys only worked in the daycare part-time, since they were still in school deciding whether or not to become veterinarians. Al’s shirt today was black, and like most shirts he wore, it said Knobcone Vets Rock.

  I headed in their direction and unleashed Biscuit, who immediately began playing with her counterparts. “Thanks,” I called to Faye and Al, pointing to Biscuit and waving to them as I left.

  I strode down the otherwise empty inside hall to the room where I could change into my vet tech scrubs and lock my purse in my locker. Then I headed to the reception area to check in. Yolanda, one of the longest-term techs at the clinic despite only being my age, was in charge, which wasn’t a surprise. She also was organized, which made her a good fit for the front desk assignment.

  Right now, Yolanda sat behind the desk at one side of the room looking at her computer screen. Checking the schedule, I figured. She wore a blue uniform shirt like mine. As usual, her black hair was pulled back into a bun at her neck, which emphasized the sharpness of her face.

  The rest of the waiting room was crowded, people in all the seats with dogs or cats beside them or in their laps, and Yolanda stared straight at me as I walked in. “Good,” she said. “Dr. Kline could use your help right now.”

  “Fine,” I told her—not that I expected her to give me a choice. She told me the exam room he was in, and I headed that way immediately.

  Dr. Arvie Kline was a good buddy of mine, another pseudo parent for me in this town, and the most senior veterinarian at the clinic. I was delighted to be working with him first that day.

  I walked into the exam room without knocking, since I figured he was expecting a vet tech to be assigned to him.

  “Carrie!” he exclaimed immediately. “Good timing. I need your help holding Duke and Prince for their shots.” Duke and Prince were golden cocker spaniels, and I’d seen them in my shops that morning.

  I glanced up at their owner before I knelt to pick up the first dog to put on the table for Arvie to inoculate. I’d seen him in the Barkery, too. “Hi,” I said and smiled. The man had introduced himself to me then. As I recalled, his name was Henry.

  His return smile appeared … well, unhappy. “You’re the lady from the dog treat shop, right?”

  “That’s right.” I picked up warm, fuzzy, and fortunately not too heavy Duke and placed him on the metal table in the center of the room as Arvie got the DHPP, which included distemper and three other diseases, and Bordetella—kennel cough—shots ready. “I hadn’t seen you before so I assumed that this morning was your first time there. Here, too? Are you and your pups new to Knobcone Heights?”

  Arvie, preparing to stick the needle into the dog I controlled, gave me a look I could only describe as weird. What was he trying to tell me?

  I could guess the answer when the patients’ parent replied, “Yes, as to the dogs. No as to me. I used to live here.”

  “That’s right,” Arvie said. “Henry, let me introduce you to our bakery shops’ owner, Carrie Kennersly. And Carrie, let me introduce you to Henry Schulzer.”

  “Good to officially meet you,” I said, holding on tighter as Duke struggled. But my mind was still at work.

  Schulzer. Why did that name sound familiar?

  And then I remembered. The one-time mayor of Knobcone Heights who’d been murdered. Hadn’t her name been Flora Morgan Schulzer?

  Three

  Both Duke and Prince were perfect gentlemen—er, gentledogs—as they received their shots. Almost. They wriggled a bit as I tried to hold them still, especially as they felt the needles go in. But no nips, no attempts to get away, just sweet spaniel acceptance.

  I couldn’t turn to look at Arvie as he gave the shots. I mostly stared at the shelves holding veterinary supplies along the exam room’s back wall. As I moved the dogs onto the table and off, though, I glanced at Henry Schulzer. I’d noticed before that he was a tall, thin guy with loose facial skin and a slight, scruffy gray beard that matched his short hair. I caught his glance twice before looking away, and I managed to smile at him.

  Was he the former mayor’s widower? The name fit, and possibly his age did, too. I wanted to ask whether I was right, and if so, why did he happen to be in town now, when his wife’s murderer was apparently being paroled? Could it be a coincidence? The news had been reported that morning, and who knew if Mike Holpurn would come back to Knobcone Heights anyway?

  Did Schulzer know any of this?

  And why was I suddenly obsessing over this situation? Dinah was the researcher, not me. I’d had my fill of nosing around murders.

  The appointment was soon over. I said, as Henry began to leave with his dogs, “I hope to see you in the Barkery again soon. I’d say the same about this office, too, but that would mean one of your dogs has a health issue.” I made myself grin. I was trying to be funny, after all—sort of.

  It became clear that I wasn’t going to get answers to any of my questions here, or maybe anywhere.

  “Right,” Henry said. “See ya.”

  Arvie, too, prepared to leave the room but after Henry and his dogs were gone, I looked at him with a “can we talk?” expression. He knew what it meant, so he closed the door.

  “How are you doing, Carrie?” he asked with a curious look on his aging, intelligent, and totally aware face. But I knew there were a lot more questions behind the basic one.

  “Okay, but … Do you know who that man is—or was?”

  “If what you’re asking is do I know that Henry is our former mayor’s widower, the answer is yes.�
� His light brown eyes appeared amused beneath his wispy silvery hair. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his white medical jacket. “That was a sad situation, around ten years ago, I think. He moved away with their kids shortly after the murder but returned a month or so ago. He brought his dogs in at that point for a brief physical, but I think he was just letting some of his former contacts know he was back. The mayor used to breed cockers who were sometimes our patients, and Duke and Prince are descendants of them. I gather that Henry also breeds occasionally, but he doesn’t have any females now.”

  “Really? What does he do for a living? And where’s his home?”

  “I don’t know the answer to either of those questions,” Arvie said with a slight shrug of his narrow shoulders. “I gather, though, that his wife’s life insurance was generous, plus he might have received some kind of stipend from the city. It’s possible he doesn’t need to work now. Of course, I don’t know where he and his kids lived in the interim, or whether he might have worked then. And his home here? I gather he’s not settled in to anyplace long-term. At least that was what was on the form he filled out when he brought his dogs here a few weeks ago.”

  The fact that Henry had apparently been in Knobcone Heights for a few weeks appeared to indicate that he hadn’t returned simply because Mike Holpurn was being released. Of course, I had no idea how long the parole decision might have been pending, or who might have known about it besides the authorities.

  Well, none of it should matter to me. Nor did it matter to me, except that my curiosity still kept pawing at my mind.

  Oh. It occurred to me that Arvie might not know about Holpurn’s release. “I doubt this is related,” I told him, “but there was a news story on TV this morning that the mayor’s killer is being, or has been, paroled.”

  “Really?” Arvie’s eyes went wide. He clearly hadn’t heard this yet. “Holpurn?”

  “Yes,” I said, and briefly explained how I’d heard it first from Dinah, and then in discussions at Cuppa’s.

  “Wow,” Arvie said. “I wonder if Henry knows this.”

  I had no idea, of course—but somehow, I figured he did.

  I stayed with Arvie to help with several more patients, but eventually I wound up in another exam room with one of the clinic’s other veterinarians, Dr. Reed Storme.

  The guy I was pretty much an item with.

  Reed and I had been seeing each other socially for months, and we’d grown even closer when I’d helped to find the last murderer in town, a case in which Reed had been the primary suspect. We’d acknowledged, then, that we needed to talk sometime about our future, and we had, a bit. But we hadn’t reached any conclusions.

  Yet I was happy with things the way they were. We were seeing each other exclusively and often—and not only here at the clinic.

  I helped him do an annual physical on a cat who was a long-time patient of the clinic. The cat seemed right at home, as did the owner, who asked questions about Arvie and Dr. Paul Jensin, as well as Dr. Angela Regles, who had recently retired.

  And the cat? She checked out just fine. In fact, quite healthy for her thirteen years.

  As I’d done with Arvie, I waited in the exam room with Reed while the patient and her owner left. I closed the door this time.

  “Everything okay?” Reed asked. We didn’t usually hang out one-on-one at the clinic, despite how much we did elsewhere.

  “Sure,” I said brightly. Then I added, “If you don’t count some strange goings-on about town.”

  Reed had been standing beside the metal-topped table in the middle of the room. Now he approached me quickly and grabbed the tops of my arms gently.

  He was one great-looking guy. His nearly black hair contrasted well with his white lab jacket, and though his face was fully shaved, a hint of dark beard showed under his skin. He had high cheekbones, and I’d always considered the planes and shadows of his perfect face similar to those of a movie hero.

  “Dare I ask you to tell me about those goings-on?” he asked, looking down, straight into my eyes. “And if you tell me there’s been another murder, I’ll hang on to you till I’m sure you’ll keep out of any investigation.”

  “That’s not what you said last time,” I reminded him with a grin. Reed had even encouraged me to get involved since he was the main suspect. Of course, he’d changed his mind as things turned somewhat dangerous, but that hadn’t stopped me. And he did have me to thank for figuring out who really was guilty.

  “That was then. Different circumstances. Or at least I assume so. No one has accused me of murder lately.”

  “That’s a good thing.” I stood on my toes and gave him a quick kiss on his sexy mouth.

  He kissed me back … for a nice, longer time.

  “So what’s going on?” he asked when we both broke away. After all, we were at work.

  I told him quickly the little bit I knew—about Mike Holpurn’s parole and Henry Schulzer’s return. “More to come, I assume,” I said. “And yes, there’s a murder involved, but it was solved years ago, as well as occurred long before I moved here.”

  “Good. Then there’s nothing for you to get involved with.”

  A knock sounded on the exam room’s door, and with a regretful grin I backed away from him and opened it. Yolanda stood there, a guy with a shepherd mix behind her. “Oh, Dr. Storme, are you available now to check out a dog with some tooth issues?” She sounded all professional veterinary technician, but the look she leveled first on Reed and then on me was both amused and accusatory, as if she believed something risqué and inappropriate was going on.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Can you stay to help?” he asked me.

  “Unfortunately my shift is over and I need to return to the shops,” I told him. “But will I see you tonight at the resort for Dinah’s birthday celebration?” I’d already invited him.

  “Count on it,” Reed said, with a raise of his brows that suggested the possibility of multiple celebrations.

  After hanging my scrubs in my locker, I went to the daycare area to get Biscuit. We had one stop to make before returning to the shops. I’d already left a nice-sized bag of leftover treats from the Barkery in the reception area for fellow vet tech Kayle, the guy now on duty as receptionist, to pass out to dogs waiting to be seen, but I’d brought another bag along, which I now retrieved from my car. Those were for Mountaintop Rescue.

  Our town’s only animal shelter was a couple of blocks east of the clinic, also on Hill Street, an easy walk. I encouraged Biscuit to hurry since I didn’t have a lot of time before I needed to return to my bakeries, and I hoped to at least get the opportunity to say hi to Billi—Wilhelmina—Matlock, assuming she was there. Billi was one busy lady, even busier than me, with her three careers compared with my two. She ran the wonderful shelter, owned a successful day spa, and was a member of the Knobcone Heights City Council.

  It didn’t take Biscuit and me long to get to the pleasant, gold-colored stucco building. It was a couple of floors high, with windows decorated with attractive tile.

  I opened the front door, and Biscuit and I walked into the main building. Behind it were other structures secured by fences, where the hopefully temporary resident animals were housed. But I wasn’t going to visit them on this trip. I didn’t have time—and I knew they were well cared for here.

  The receptionist was Mimi, as usual. She was young and sweet and busty, and always wore a shirt with an appropriate message. Today’s was a blue one that said, Dogs leave paw prints on your heart. She was alone in the reception room working on the computer—most likely checking on the current dogs and cats and their known backgrounds, or looking on various sites to see if any other shelters had room or excess animals needing temporary homes.

  “Hi, Carrie,” she said immediately. “And hi, Biscuit.” Her tone changed to dog-love mode as she stood and looked down at my pup, and that made me smile.


  Mimi was behind the chest-height wooden reception desk that kept visitors out till they were welcomed inside—which I always was. I placed the bag of treats I’d been carrying on top of the desk.

  “Thanks,” Mimi said with a grin. “I know a lot of residents here are going to be very happy this afternoon and evening.”

  “I hope so. Is Billi here?”

  “Sure. I’ll call her for you.” But as she picked up the cell phone on her desk, Billi appeared at the top of the wooden stairway on the right-hand side of the reception area.

  “Hi, Carrie,” she called and hurried down the stairs toward me. Billi was a slender and fit woman—not surprising, since she not only owned but also worked out at the Robust Retreat, a highly posh day spa. This was one of her relaxed days, I assumed, since she often dressed in her city councilwoman mode but today wore a long-sleeved T-shirt over her jeans. When she reached me, we shared a hug, and Biscuit got one, too. Billi glanced at the bag on the counter. “You brought us some treats?”

  “I sure did.” I paused only momentarily. “Do you have a few minutes?”

  The expression on her lovely face appeared slightly puzzled, though welcoming. “Come on upstairs.”

  I didn’t intend to stay long but also didn’t want to ask questions in front of Mimi. “Thanks,” I said, and Biscuit and I followed her.

  At the top of the stairs, she led me down the hall and into her office—and as always, I got a kick out of the sign on the door: Councilwoman Wilhelmina Matlock, Boss of the City, Canines, and Cats. I sat down quickly on one of the wooden chairs on the antique area rug, facing her highly professional-looking desk. Biscuit sat by my feet.

  “So what’s going on, Carrie?” she asked immediately.

  “Let me ask first: Were you around here when Mayor Flora Morgan Schulzer was killed?”

  “Murdered, you mean. And yes I was.” Billi’s pretty, deep brown eyes narrowed. “Surely you aren’t getting involved with that murder. It was solved, even though the killer is apparently being paroled.”