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September rocked back on her heels in surprise, and had to consciously close her mouth. It wasn’t possible they couldn’t find Sly’s body. She should have led them to the place. Hell, she would have missed it if the cat hadn’t led Shadow to the crime scene.
Before she could say a word, Combs pushed past her and hurried out of the kitchen to the front of the house. She heard the door swing open and shut, probably on his way to rejoin Gonzales. Her lips tightened. Fine. She’d reported the crime. The police didn’t want or need her help to do their job. She had her own job to do taking care of the cats.
“Shadow, wanna go for a car ride?” September looped his leash over the back of her neck, gathered up Macy’s carrier with one hand and Sly’s cat-bag in the other, and nearly ran out the door to the car. The big pup bounced and twirled in response, following so close behind her she nearly tripped. “Stay with me, baby-dog.”
Shadow jumped into the back seat without prompting. After belting Macy’s carrier in the front seat and setting the pillowcase on the floor, September deactivated the passenger side airbag just in case. Even a minor fender bender deployed the airbag and would crush a small pet, but she couldn’t have the cats in the back with Shadow.
Her car swung out of the renovated carriage house garage. She carefully threaded the needle past Aaron’s big truck to the front gate, avoiding the sight of Sly’s battered car, which was now a crime scene. Combs didn’t look up from collecting evidence, and Gonzales joined him by the car as she drove past.
Once on the road, she fished out her cell phone from a pocket and dialed the veterinary hospital. “This is September Day, and I’m bringing two sick cats in for exams. Yes, I’d call it an emergency. I’m on my way, should be there in ten or fifteen minutes.” She briefly outlined the two cats’ symptoms before disconnecting.
She set the phone on the dash and pressed the accelerator, ignoring the speed limit to make the twenty-minute drive in record time. The tires slipped on wet pavement, and September leaned into the turn. She glanced in the mirror when Shadow lost his balance. He yelped when he bumped against the door.
“Sorry.”
He put his ears down and thumped his tail. Shadow stuck his nose through the pet barrier and poked her arm, and she smoothed his muzzle.
While her left hand steadied the steering wheel, she braced Macy’s cat carrier nested on the passenger seat with her right hand. The cat’s green eyes peered out of the mesh webbing, and he head-bumped the material and mewed, trying to reach her fingers. Sly’s cat in the pillowcase on the floor said nothing.
Macy’s breathing problems seemed to have resolved and now he seemed normal. But she didn’t want to take chances, and Pinkerton needed a look, too. Besides, it had been too long between checkups. Macy loved meeting new people and enjoyed vet visits where strangers complimented him and offered pets and treats.
She couldn’t bring herself to visit the vet clinic back in South Bend. She knew it was wrong to blame them but couldn’t help it when they couldn’t save Dakota. At the thought of his name, her heart skipped a beat. She still missed him. Always would.
“Macy-cat, feeling better?” She steadied the carrier as they again rounded a curve. When he meowed, Shadow nosed her once more. Although the pair had only lived together a short time, they’d already become fast friends.
Macy had always been healthy, and at four, he was the picture of a strapping adult boy cat. Maybe he’d eaten something toxic. Her own mouth tasted bitter at the thought. She knew all the holiday plants to avoid—holly, Jerusalem cherry, mistletoe—and decorated with an eye toward pet safety. She didn’t even have the fake plants in the house.
She’d been rocked by Combs’s revelation. It made no sense for the body to disappear. She hadn’t fumbled for a pulse, it hadn’t seemed necessary with the state of his concaved face, but if Sly had managed to stagger off, Gonzales would have found him.
Combs didn’t mention the baseball bat, either. That thought chilled her. There had been plenty of time between her finding Sly’s body and Gonzales’s arrival for someone to move it.
Someone who stumbled upon the crime scene would raise the alarm and call the police, would get help, not hide the victim. Instead, they didn’t want Sly found maybe because they killed him. And that someone had the murder weapon that could incriminate her.
“Shadow, tell me I’m paranoid.” He woofed happily, and she smiled despite herself. The pup always knew how to lift her spirits. “We’re a team now, right? We’ll protect each other.”
She felt lucky to have survived Uncle Vic with nothing worse than PTSD, although nothing worse seemed like an oxymoron. She shivered.
He’d listened to her teenage angst. He’d cheered her musical successes, and kept would-be romantic wolves at bay, deeming none good enough for his “princess.” After being overshadowed for years by her sister—April was the pretty one—September felt flattered and vindicated by Uncle Vic’s attention and fierce protectiveness. Her folks thought the world of him. And so she trusted him completely. Until her eighteenth birthday dinner, when everything changed.
“He can’t hurt you.” She said the words aloud, the mantra one she’d recited for more than eight years. But the package, another crappy joke from Sly, brought everything back. He couldn’t hurt her. But he had. Because of Victor, she’d never feel safe again; never open herself to such hurt. Never trust again, not fully.
She kept the horrific memories buried and had no intention to share what sort of damaged goods she truly was. Chris had known, and ended up dead. “Safest to stick with cats and dogs. Right gang? You don’t care about the past.” And pets never lied about love.
She pulled into the parking lot of All Creatures Veterinary Hospital. Shadow’s breeder had been married to the clinic’s owner, Doc Eugene, an internal medicine specialist. Heartland didn’t have a pet emergency center, and instead several smaller clinics rotated after-hours emergency availability. They’d treated Shadow’s gunshot wound last month, along with his paw injuries, and she’d been relieved not to see Doc Eugene. For sure, he didn’t want to see her.
September put the car in park and cracked both rear windows two inches before turning off the engine. The warmth of the heater followed her briefly as she stepped into the cold. Her breath puffed in white clouds when she hurried around to the passenger side to heft the twenty-pound Maine Coon’s carrier out of the car. The cat in the pillowcase weighed less than half that amount. She slammed the door, and briefly touched a gloved hand to Shadow’s nose sticking out the window.
“Wait here, baby-dog, I’ll be out soon.” Shadow’s worried whine fogged the window, but he quickly settled to await her return.
The door squeaked open on a tile-floor waiting room lined with padded benches on three walls. Large windows on the front side gave September a clear view of her Volvo and the black doggy nose stuck halfway out one rear window. Clenching the pet caddy in one hand and the bagged cat in the other, she lugged them to the front counter—deserted—and waited a moment before setting both gently onto the floor.
“Anybody here?” She leaned over the chest-high counter, craning to see into the back room where muffled voices droned.
A hidden door squealed opened. “September, that you? Be right there.” The youthful voice belonged to Timothy Beamish, the office manager and vet tech September had called on the way to the office. “Meet me in the cat room, exam three.” The door clunked shut.
Macy’s meow turned into a drawn out yowl as his carrier swung in September’s grasp and accidentally bumped into a wall. “Sorry, buddy.” She balanced Macy in one hand with Pinkerton in the pillowcase in the other, and hurried down the hall to the last small room on the left and elbowed open the door.
Three people stood in the room around a stainless steel table upon which a brown and white Pit Bull reclined. An enormous man, at least 250 pounds, turned a tear-streaked face toward her. The white-coated veterinarian’s nostrils flared in aggravation, and September sucked in her breath and backed out of the doorway. “Sorry.”
A short stocky man wearing a smock covered in pink and blue puppies and kittens saw her and smiled, and September glimpsed his name-tag. Timothy didn’t move from his cradling grasp of the recumbent dog. “Cat room is across the hall. We’ll be with you shortly.”
“I’m so sorry.” Heat flooded her face. She pulled the door closed and hurried to an identical room that smelled faintly of alcohol and cat pee. She shut the door and leaned against it. So much for dodging an encounter with Doc Eugene.
She busied herself getting Macy out of the carrier and onto the metal table for the exam, but left the tuxedo cat in the bag on one of the chairs. She settled into the other chair. The voices in the room across the hall carried, and it made her uncomfortable intruding on the big man’s grief but she couldn’t block out the sound. Obviously something serious afflicted his dog.
“He got all his shots. I give ‘em myself, except that rabies one that y’all have to give.” His voice trembled. “He’s my best hog dawg, a real natural on the hunt. But he’s been off the past couple weeks, you know? Not himself.”
“Mr. Benson, we’ll have to run tests. What kind of changes have you noticed?” Doc Eugene was all business.
“Wandering, can’t get settled. Acts deaf, or at least he don’t pay attention too good. Used to beat me to the truck. Now he trots on over, but don’t know what to do once he gets there.” BeeBo’s voice had steadied. “Can you fix him? He’s only four-years-old, but acting like an old fogey with half a brain.”
“Like the others.” There was a pause before a defensive note crept into Timothy’s voice. “Well, it is. The other doctors said so, too.”
September paid closer attention. Macy jumped into her lap and began kneading rhythmically against her thigh, acting fine. Maybe she’d over-reacted, but she couldn’t take a chance. Macy had been with her through the bad times. She’d been alone, adrift, and he provided a furry anchor. September smoothed his dark neck and shoulders and scratched his white chin and chest. She wondered if the other pets Timothy had mentioned also suffered fainting spells.
“How’s his appetite? What do you feed him?” Doc Eugene continued his no nonsense tone, intent on collecting an accurate history.
“Raw, it’s healthier.” Defensiveness crept into Benson’s voice as well. “I fed that way thirty years, before it was a fad. My dawgs do good on it. This ain’t the food, Doc.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Benson, we want all the facts so we can figure this out. I’d like to admit him. We need to run some tests, take blood samples, run a urinalysis, and go from there.”
A long silence followed before the big man managed a choked answer. “Do what ya gotta do, Doc.” His voice hiccupped, steadied and went on. “I’ll pay whatever’s needed. Just fix my dawg.”
September heard the door across the hall open and close and pictured the big man returning to the front lobby area. She felt for him.
The door in the opposite side of the room opened and Timothy stuck his head inside. “We’ll be with you shortly, we’re getting that dog squared away. We’re a bit shorthanded today. Only me and Doc Eugene scheduled, but lots of weird emergencies.” He bit his lip. “I didn’t say that. Doc wouldn’t want me talking like that.”
“Weird stuff?” September struggled to keep Macy on her lap when the big cat wanted to race over and greet Timothy. “Weird how?”
A canine whine turned into a drawn out howl. “Tim, I need your help.” The veterinarian’s soothing baritone murmured and the dog’s distress calmed. Timothy handed her a form on a clip-board with a pen. “Fill out the basics about the cats, and we’ll be back in a flash.” He ducked out the door without answering September’s question.
After another fifteen minute wait, the door opened again, this time admitting Doc Eugene. His long, narrow face masked emotion, and he wouldn’t meet September’s eyes. She’d feared his reaction. She’d seen him last at his wife Pam’s funeral, where she’d been turned away.
“This is Macy.” The cat wriggled out of September’s grasp and leaped onto the exam table to meet Doc Eugene with a trill of welcome. The big man’s eyes softened when the Maine Coon met his offered hands with head butts and cheek rubs.
September stood, and took a deep breath before speaking. “I gave Timothy the history over the phone, and completed this form. But I brought another cat—in the pillowcase. He needs an exam, too. I think it’s Pinkerton, a cat that belongs to Sylvester Sanger.”
“Tim?” He waited until the technician came in, and handed the bagged cat over. “See if we have a chart for owner Sylvester Sanger. If not, make a Good Sam chart, and get the basics.” The door closed and he turned back to Macy. “Tell me again.” He still didn’t meet her eyes, but stayed focused on the patient, deftly examining the cat from nose to tail.
“Macy’s four. He had his last exam a little over a year ago in South Bend, Indiana, a wellness exam with updates on his vaccinations. He got a three-year rabies at that time so isn’t due for at least another year.”
“You said it was an emergency when you called.” He finally looked at her. She could tell it took great effort for him to keep his voice neutral, but his manner could have frozen fire. He had reason to dislike her. Pam would still be alive if not for her.
“I thought it was an emergency.” September kept her eyes on the cat, anywhere but at the vet. Macy purred and trilled, delighted by all the attention. “He acts fine now, but he passed out at home.”
His hands tightened on Macy, and he pulled the stethoscope from its necklaced position to listen to the cat’s heart. “Has he ever fainted before?”
“No. He’s always been active; he eats well. Chases the dog, teases Shadow, they’re still testing boundaries. But they played this morning racing around and around, and he had no problem. This is the first time I’ve noticed anything.” She paused. “I overheard what Timothy said. Is there something going around? Sly—I mean, Sylvester—mentioned that his cat had been acting odd.”
He held up one hand to silence her, and continued to listen to Macy’s heart. A half smile transformed his face for a split second. “He won’t stop purring. But there’s a distinct murmur.” He flipped the stethoscope back around his neck. “Did the previous exams detect any abnormal cardiac sounds?”
“Nobody mentioned it, no.” September’s stomach clenched. Maine Coon cats could be prone to heart defects.
“I want to get a cardiac ultrasound.” Doc Eugene scribbled a note on the chart, all business once again. “I don’t like guessing, would rather get all the facts before we speculate. There’s also a DNA test for Maine Coons that can tell us if he has the gene mutation responsible for HCM—hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a heart ailment. That okay with you?” He continued to scribble, taking her silence for agreement.
She buried her face in Macy’s mahogany coat, and her hair spilled over him, the color a perfect match. She struggled to maintain composure. Just breathe. “You want me to leave him here? Can’t I wait while you run the test?” The three of them, as a unit, felt right. Leaving Macy behind took away one leg of their virtual three-legged stool.
He shook his head. “He’s so friendly he probably won’t need to be sedated. But I’ve got a kennel full of cases ahead of him, also the other cat you brought in. We need to mail the sample for the DNA test, and won’t get results for at least a week.” He opened the door and beckoned Tim before coming back to September. “We’ll call you when we’re finished. If it’s what I suspect, we can get Macy on some medication to help relieve the symptoms and slow progression of problems.”
Leaving Macy felt like a mistake, but September had no good reason to argue. Even if Doc Eugene didn’t like her, she couldn’t question his professionalism and dedication to furry clients.
When Timothy came into the room, Doc Eugene took September’s completed form and strode out as though he couldn’t wait to get away. The tech smiled and scratched Macy’s chin before gathering the cat into his arms. “I’ll meet you at the front desk as soon as I get kitty-kins squared away. Oh, I found Sylvester Sanger in the database. His tabby Pinkerton is the same age as your boy.” Macy’s big head bobbed over Timothy’s shoulder and he blinked and meowed before disappearing into the rear clinic area.
September’s throat tightened. He’ll be fine. She collected Macy’s pet carrier and returned to the front desk, heart as hollow as the empty container. She forced a smile when Timothy bustled back into the reception area, brandishing the paperwork for Macy’s tests.
“What a sweet cat. Lots of them get stressed and hard to handle. Pinkerton won’t stop yowling.” He wrinkled his nose. “Cats don’t like all the strange smells and critters.”
“Macy’s always been a people cat. He’d run up to an ax murderer and ask for a pet.” She dug in her handbag for her wallet. “Thought I’d lost him out the door this morning. Scared me to death.”
“You should microchip him.” Timothy read the chart. “Wait, he already is.”
She smiled. “So’s Shadow.”
He crossed to a shelf behind the counter and returned with a brochure. “What about these? Got in some trial packages, they attach to the collar. Kind of big for most cats but Macy’s huge. You can get one for Shadow, too.”
“Tracking system for pets? Couldn’t hurt.”
“They’re sort of pricy.” He sounded apologetic. “I can get it set up for you, though, no charge.”
“Thanks.” September handed over a credit card, barely glancing at the total. The amount didn’t matter. Only getting Macy the right help mattered. Besides, between Chris’s life insurance and the lottery winnings, she’d not have to worry about such things ever again.
A car engine roared and September started. She checked out the front window as a large truck revved outside.
“That’s Mr. Benson.” Timothy shook his head and frowned. “He’s one of the stars of that local reality show, where he hunts with his dogs. He’s pretty torn up. Sad situation.” Timothy sighed. “I think he’s got someone driving him, thank doG, or else he’d probably skid right off the road, the state he’s in.”
September strained to see around the truck until she saw Shadow poke his nose out her car window. Her shoulders relaxed. At least he was healthy. “What’s the deal with Mr. Benson’s dog?” She pushed her hair back behind her ears. “I couldn’t help overhearing. Is it something that Shadow could catch? Or Macy?” Maybe she should get out the bleach and disinfect everything when she got home.
Timothy shrugged. “Something’s going around, we don’t know exactly what. There’s been increased reports of sick raccoons, too. Maybe other wildlife.”
“Rabies? Should I get Shadow another booster?” He’d cornered a raccoon in the garden a couple of weeks ago but he’d not had any contact before she called him off.
“Not rabies. The wildlife guys think it’s a mutated dog distemper because there’s more neuro signs than anything else. Raccoons can get dog distemper, but it’s not contagious to cats. The feline distemper is a different disease—the panleukopenia virus usually causes vomiting and diarrhea and can make raccoons sick, too, but it doesn’t cause the neuro signs like the dog disease. This illness has neurological signs like dog distemper but affects cats, especially the feral colonies, so maybe it’s a variant. So sad.” Timothy leaned pointy elbows on the counter and lowered his voice, enjoying a fresh audience and freedom to share juicy gossip. “The hospital’s full of cats and a few dogs with similar weird signs like Mr. Benson’s dog. Doc Eugene won’t confirm or deny, and he’s sent off a bunch of labs and been talking with some of the other internists.” He whispered. “Don’t say anything; he hates me to speculate.”
September thought of how Pinkerton had acted in the laundry room, lost in one corner and unable to find his way out. “They catch it from raccoons?”
“Haven’t a clue.” Timothy handed back the credit card. “It’ll be late this afternoon before the doc can run the echo. But don’t you worry; we’ll take good care of Mr. Macy. Oh, and honey? Don’t let the Doc get you down. He knows it wasn’t your fault. He’s still hurting.”
September flinched, but forced an unsteady smile that quickly crumbled.
“Oh dear, I shouldn’t have said anything. Honey, it’s okay.” Timothy hurried from around the counter, ignoring the fact they’d only just met, and enveloped September in a bear hug. “You don’t have to hide your feelings, it’s safe here.” He stood back and grabbed up a box of tissues. “We should buy stock in Kleenex.”
She choked a laugh, grabbing one and smashing it against her eyes. “It’s the worry over Macy.” That, and Sly’s ill-timed yellow-ribboned delivery. And disappearance. She scrubbed her face with the wet tissue as if that would also erase the helplessness she couldn’t quash. “He’s such a good kitty. Got me through some pretty desperate times, you know?”
“Don’t they all.” Timothy patted her on the shoulder, grabbed up the cat carrier to set it on the counter. “Want me to keep this here for Macy?” She agreed, and he escorted her out the door to the car. He gave her another quick squeeze and hurried back to the clinic, hugging himself against the chill.
BeeBo sat on the passenger side of the huge truck next to September’s car. His shoulders shook, and September turned away to give him the privacy she’d want. The truck’s engine revved, shuddered into gear and peeled out of the parking lot.
Shadow stuck his snout out the cracked window and whined. Her heartbeat a trip-hammer, unable to catch her breath, she clutched at the car door. Get inside, get arms around Shadow, hands against his warm fur. She needed contact to counter the chill in her veins. She should have brought him inside with her. She knew better, but had been overcome with worry over Macy, the strange cat’s symptoms, and Sly’s disappearance.
The pulse in her temple pounded, pounded, vision narrowed to a pinprick tunnel, and invisible bands crushed her chest. Numb fingers and toes betrayed her intent, and September stumbled, fumbled, failed to get IN—must get INSIDE!—the car’s safety. A scream built in her lungs that she couldn’t release past the constriction of her throat—can’t breathe! can’t see!—blinded by tears, sweat drenching her body despite the freezing air. Suffocating, dying, falling forever, no escape from the abyss that claimed her body, her soul...
A lifetime later her heartbeat slowed and breathing eased, and she found herself in the car’s back seat with no memory of how she got there. The dog’s weight pressed into her. “Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight...” She counted backwards, out loud, a trick she’d used before she’d had Shadow. In those days, Macy’s solid weight in her lap anchored reality so she could find her way back from the darkness. Now it was Shadow who licked her face, and she smiled and pushed him off her lap. “Good-dog, what a good-dog. Thank you, Shadow, I’m okay now.”
Opening the door, September slid out of the car. “Wait.” Shadow cocked his head but didn’t attempt to leave the car, and sat when she latched his door and climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’m ready to go home, how about you?”
Shadow woofed. Before she could start the car, her phone rang. She noted the display before quickly answering. “Hi Teddy, what’s up?”
“I need you to bring Shadow.” He sounded as breathless as she’d been moments before. “I’m at Sunnydale Nursing Home. Molly’s gone, her and the dog are both gone.”
