Muffin was as unhappy about his impending vet appointment as I was. As soon as he saw me approaching with the carrier, he bolted into the nearest cubby—one of the small cubbies, of course, that made it extra difficult to maneuver him out. After fifteen minutes of coaxing and the potential for real tears on my part, I was finally able to lure him out with some of the salmon Ethan had bought for tonight’s dinner. I figured I wouldn’t mention it.
Once we were in the car, I realized we were going to be late, even without much traffic on the road. Duck Cove, two towns over, was about twenty minutes away and I only had about thirteen minutes to play with. Cursing under my breath, I hit the gas. Pretty sure Dr. Charge-a-lot would bill me for being late and probably cancel my appointment or something.
I made it there only five minutes late. The vet’s office was in a house that looked more like a mini-mansion, with marble columns framing the front door and an old-fashioned lamppost next to the walkway. Not that mini-mansions were unusual out here in Duck Cove, Val’s old stomping grounds, where she and her ex used to live. Now she tended to avoid this area since her split, although I’d heard Cole had moved off the island last month. Presumably to live in Boston, in closer proximity to his father’s law office, where he had a cushy job and a corner office.
A small sign hanging from the lamppost told me I was in the right place. A black Jag that I assumed was Drake’s was parked in the driveway. No other cars were around. I decided to stay parked at the curb and turned the engine off.
I grabbed the carrier and hurried to the door, shoving it open so hard it bounced back and hit the wall. Oops. At least it was a dramatic entrance. I looked around, finally able to register my surroundings now that I was here. There was a small desk set up off to the left. No one was at it. A closed door to my right, then a hallway, which I assumed led to more exam rooms. The house had clearly been remodeled, with gleaming hardwood floors and a museum-like feel. I wondered how many dogs came in here and knocked down the fancy vases and other vet-office-inappropriate decorations set up in various locations.
Muffin meowed loudly from the carrier, one of those super loud meows that cats make when they want to sound like someone is killing them. I held up the crate and peered inside. “You’re fine, Muffin. We’re going to get you all checked out.”
Muffin didn’t look thrilled. I felt his pain.
I looked around, then walked down the hallway. “Hello?”
No answer. Where was the receptionist? The only reason I didn’t figure I’d gotten the address wrong was the sign out front. But still, this didn’t seem to be operating like a real vet hospital. And why did I need to hold my spot for $250 when there was no one even in the waiting area?
I had put the carrier down and started down the hall to see if anyone was in one of the exam rooms when I heard voices from somewhere above me.
“I told you I’m handling it!” A man’s voice, angry. I paused and listened, trying to discern where it was coming from.
Then a woman’s voice, softer, but it sounded like she was crying. “How are you handling it? You won’t tell me. You won’t even talk to me anymore.”
I followed the voices to a door that I presumed led to stairs. Living quarters, I guessed. The Drakes must live here, too.
The voice I presumed was Drake’s spoke again, still loudly, but this time there was a weariness to it. “Have I ever let us down before? I told you, Marla, I have it covered. Now I have to get to an appointment.”
A door slammed and I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I scurried back to the waiting area and tried to look like I’d just walked in just as Dr. Alvin Drake appeared through the door where I’d been hovering. I realized I hadn’t met him in person before, although I’d seen him once when I was out with Katrina and she’d pointed him out.
Up close, he looked older than I’d assumed. And tired. His reddish-brown hair had started to gray, and his eyes looked … heavy. He had a beard that made him look even thinner, but it held the only hint of color in his face, with some red tones interspersed with the brown and gray.
He looked at us and attempted a smile. “Hello. Are you…”—he glanced at his book—“Maddie?”
I nodded. “And Muffin. Sorry we’re late.” I watched him curiously. I didn’t know what I was expecting—maybe someone meaner—but this guy just looked exhausted. Well dressed, but exhausted.
“Late?” he said, then glanced at his watch. “Oh. It’s no problem. This way.” He picked up Muffin’s carrier, which I felt was very gentlemanly, and led us into an exam room. He closed the door behind us, set Muffin’s carrier down, and opened the door.
“So what brings you here?” he asked, reaching in to pet Muffin’s head.
“I’m Maddie James. I run JJ’s House of Purrs,” I said, watching for a reaction.
Drake merely looked preoccupied. “Mm-hmm,” he said. “How is business? I imagine slow nowadays?”
I shrugged. “As expected. But I do have a lot of regulars who come in. I work with Katrina Denning. She sends me the cats from the island shelter. Anyway, Muffin is new to the cafe, so I’m not sure if it’s nerves or getting adjusted, but he’s been lethargic and not eating well.”
He took Muffin by the scruff and pulled him gently out of the carrier. I wondered where his vet tech was, but the office seemed to be deserted. Except for the woman upstairs. He felt around Muffin’s stomach, checked his eyes and inside his mouth and ears. “Is he eating and drinking well?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Any diarrhea or vomiting?”
I shook my head. Although sometimes it was hard to tell with ten cats, not in cages, I was fairly certain I would’ve known if Muffin had been having those problems.
The whole exam took about five minutes. “We should do an X-ray,” he said. “And some bloodwork. To make sure there’s nothing obvious going on.”
I figured as much. I’d also hoped for as much, because I thought I’d snoop around out front a bit. “Go ahead,” I said.
He nodded. “I’ll just take him out back. We’ll be a few minutes.”
Once Drake had slipped out the back door of the exam room, I cracked the other door leading back into the reception area, my eyes darting around to make sure no one had entered the space. It was still silent.
Keeping the door cracked so I’d hear if he returned, I slipped out and hurried over to the desk. It was tidy. A cell phone sat facedown on an appointment book. I lifted it and perused the page. Mine was the only appointment today. I flipped the pages, noting how light his schedule seemed to be. Maybe he was charging so much to stay afloat with minimal customers, but that had the potential to be a vicious circle of keeping people away.
I returned the book and cell phone to their rightful position. Other than that, there was a small stack of mail, what looked like bills, and a Post-it note with a phone number on it. Not a Massachusetts number. I took my cell phone out of my back pocket and snapped a quick photo of it. There was nothing else in sight to snoop, sadly.
I came out from behind the desk just as the door down the hall opened and a woman stepped out, adjusting a rose-colored beret on her head. She paused when she saw me, then nodded. “Hello.”
“Hello,” I said. “Just looking for the bathroom.” I smiled sweetly.
“Oh. It’s over there.” She pointed to one of the doors along the hallway.
“Thanks. Maddie James,” I offered.
“Marla Drake,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and moved past me. She was a wisp of a woman, even behind the giant puffy coat she wore.
“How are you liking the island?” I asked.
She turned, looking puzzled and maybe a little annoyed that I was still talking to her. “It’s fine. I’m late, though, so if you’ll excuse me.” And she hurried out the front door.
Friendly. I turned and went back to the exam room just as Drake arrived with Muffin, who looked even less happy than when we’d started our day.
“I should have the bloodwork back tomorrow. I didn’t see anything disturbing on the X-ray, so we’ll see what the blood says and go from there. I gave him some fluids because he was a bit dehydrated. That should perk him up a bit.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned to put Muffin back in the carrier. “We can go out front.”
Crap. I was losing my opportunity to question him. “So how’s business?” I blurted.
He turned, looking a bit surprised by my question. “It’s fine,” he said. “Slow season, but it’s that way for us all, right?”
“Yeah. And it’s a shame about that writer. Did you know him?” Smooth transition, genius, I chided myself.
Drake straightened, setting the carrier back down on the exam table with a snap. “No,” he said, his voice ten times cooler than it had been. “I did not know him.” And he turned and strode out of the room, leaving me to pick up Muffin and follow.