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September hobbled into the kitchen, Shadow never far from her side, and smiled at the array of food still to be eaten. Anita bustled from the refrigerator to the stained glass table, replacing spent dishes with refills.
Shadow licked his lips and stared hopefully at his empty dish. Anita took the cue, grabbed a square of cheese and lobbed it expertly toward the bowl. He leaped forward and snapped it out of the air before it landed.
“He’ll get fat.” But September didn’t mind, not tonight. He deserved as many treats as he wanted. Tonight they celebrated the cusp of a new year, and for her, a new life. Shadow made that possible. So had Macy.
“Get out of here. Go entertain your guests.” Anita made shooing motions with her green and red lacquered nails, and flipped dark hair over her shoulder that tonight boasted a matching green streak.
“Got to give Macy his pill.” The cat lounged atop the refrigerator, supervising the activity. September stroked Macy’s white throat, and rumbled purrs spilled forth. Dark stains from the Sharpie-drawn message had yet to fade, but she considered it a badge of honor. She wouldn’t inflict the indignity of a bath on the feline hero.
“Pill time, Macy.” She shook out one of his prescriptions. He stood and stretched, and then sat and waited for the medicine. “Open.” As soon as his mouth stretched wide, she made a tongue-click noise to signal he’d chosen the right behavior, and quickly popped in the pill immediately followed by a sliver of cheese. “Good boy, Macy!” The cat chewed, swallowed, and pawed her hand. She obliged with another treat and followed up with a cheek scratch.
“Will that cure him? Never knew a cat to open wide like that for a pill.” Anita smiled with admiration. “Mine’ll take my head off if I think about pills.”
September laughed. “Most cats hate pills, true. Macy isn’t a fan, but the treat trumps the pill. He knows he only gets treats afterwards. I like to think he knows they make him feel better, too.” She shrugged. “There’s no cure for cardiomyopathy. Doc Eugene says Macy’s is the milder form, and the medicine helps.” Thank goodness Doc Eugene was a board certified veterinary internist with a specialty in cardiology. Macy would get an annual echocardiogram from now on, to monitor any heart changes.
Macy’s DNA test showed he carried only one copy of the gene so he had a more encouraging prognosis. Maine Coon cats with two copies of the A31 mutation were eighteen times more likely to develop problems and often died by age four.
Anita joined September at the refrigerator to scratch Macy’s other cheek, and the cat closed his eyes with pleasure. “At least my mutt cats are immune.” At September’s frown, she stopped scratching, and Macy head-butted her hand until she continued. “No?”
“All cats can get it. Experts suspect the disease happens as the result of a heritable heart gene mutation—that’s been proven in a couple of cat breeds, but not all—so responsible breeders screen for HCM to avoid spreading the problem. Persians have an incidence of up to forty percent, Maine Coons like Macy, Ragdolls, American Shorthair, Sphynx—several breeds are known to be affected. But it’s in other breeds, and even mix breed cats and ferals aren’t immune. They may get sick and die without being diagnosed, so I suppose we can’t know the true incidence in pet cats.” She stroked Macy’s thick fur. “God bless Winn Feline Foundation. They’re funding research to find ways to identify and eliminate the disease from breeding programs, and that can help the general cat population—including your kitties.”
The phone rang and Anita started across the room to get it. “Who’d call this late on New Year’s Eve?”
“That’s the business line. Let the machine get it.” Tonight she didn’t want anything to put a damper on the festivities.
“Forgot to tell you.” Anita bit her lip and plucked a Post-It from the wall phone and handed it to September. “Message from some O’Dell woman, there’s the number. She sounded pretty upset you’d not returned her calls.” She made a face. “About that time the cookies started to burn, and I got so busy with the food, it totally slipped my mind. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. With pet lovers, everything needs immediate attention even if the problem’s gone on for months. I’ll call her later.” September stuck the Post-It on the face of the refrigerator, and dropped Macy’s pills back into a drawer. She leaned against the granite counter top. “Thanks for all this. I couldn’t do it without your help. Still have quite a hitch in my git-along.”
“Love doing it.” Anita wore a silver sequin-encrusted cocktail dress with matching spike heels and glittered like a tarnished tree ornament. “My postage stamp apartment won’t fit more’n four people, and I love parties. Only chance I get to wear my sparkles.” She eyed September critically. “At least your crutches got retired. Hard to host a party when you walk like Lurch from The Addams Family.”
Stifling a giggle, September poured wine into a glass, and sipped. “I don’t do sparkles.” Hell, she rarely did skirts, either, and preferred sweats or jeans. She’d surprised Combs by wearing a calf-length emerald velvet gown, the long sleeves, high neck and long skirt not only festive but practical. The dress hid both past and recent scars, including the knee brace stabilizing the ACL tear. Doctors predicted a full recovery with strict adherence to rehab.
“Go on. Get back to your party. I’ve got this covered.” Anita sipped her cocktail. “I’ll join you in a minute. It’s a half hour to the new year, so go stop Fish from being a conversation hog.” She made a face. “Maybe not a good choice of words.”
September shuddered. It would be a long time before she’d risk eating pork again. Fish, though, had somehow managed to turn the Hog Hell debacle into an opportunity. Rather than shutting down the TV show, controversy vaulted it to even greater ratings, and he’d been tapped to replace Tommy Dietz as the host.
Anita was over the moon when Fish brought her on board as his assistant. Tonight was the closest Anita and Fish had come to having a real date. September hid a smile. Fish didn’t stand a chance of squirming out of Anita’s shiny net.
When she limped from the kitchen into the dining area, September saw several groups scattered throughout the room. As Anita predicted, Fish held forth in one corner, entertaining Detective Gonzales and his wife Mercedes along with Doc Eugene.
She’d hesitated to invite the veterinarian, knowing how he felt about her, but breathed easier when he’d accepted. He raised his glass when she entered, and September smiled back, grateful they’d been able begin the process of reconciliation. She’d promised to spend time with the dogs Pam had loved so much, and perhaps get them back into tracking form. Shadow would enjoy the canine company.
Shadow stayed glued to her side. He’d not left her sight since the fire, not even when she’d gone to the hospital for evaluation. Combs insisted she and her service dog couldn’t be separated, and the medics took one look at his badge and her face, and didn’t argue.
Combs smiled from across the room and left Teddy to meet her. “You’re gorgeous.”
Heat warmed her cheeks.
“So are you, Shadow. Handsome, I mean.” Combs held out his hand for the dog to sniff, and the pup politely nose-touched. He pressed closer to September, and stayed between her and the man.
Combs leaned in to whisper to September. “I think he’s jealous. And we still haven’t had our first date.”
She bit her lip, flustered. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Her hand fell to Shadow’s ruff, and the butterflies settled.
Teddy joined them. “What a lovely couple.”
What was this, a conspiracy? September sipped her wine and kept her eyes lowered.
Teddy added, “And you’re pretty dapper tonight yourself, Detective Combs.”
September sputtered. “Good one.”
He scratched Shadow’s chin. The pup wagged happily. Teddy turned somber when he turned to September. “How’s Aaron?”
She took another sip of the wine, and leaned against a chair, more to give herself time than for any need of support. They’d found Aaron wandering, alive but suffering from frostbite, blood loss and hypothermia. And what they all suspected to be a new prion disease, courtesy of Hog Hell.
“Not good. They saved his arm.” He’d hurt himself, bled all over the garden, and got turned around when he tried to go for help. Aaron exited out the back of the fence and walked more than a mile before he sat down on the shoulder of a road and was found by a passing driver. “He’s lucky he didn’t die of shock, lucky the weather wasn’t worse. They’re still running tests.” She raised her eyebrows at Combs, asking permission, and at his slight nod, she continued. “Cassie Harrison has it, too.”
Teddy was surprised. “That’s your ex-wife, right?” Combs nodded. “I understand how Mr. Felch got sick, and the dogs from the show. But Aaron and your ex-wife, what’s their connection? The restaurant says they never served harvested feral pig before the launch party.”
When Shadow whined and nudged her, September smoothed his brow. He read her emotions as easily as she read music. “Aaron’s a vegetarian. He’d never eat barbecue.”
Teddy sounded properly shocked. “Hey, Mr. Fish? Can you explain something for us?” From across the room Fish jutted his chin whiskers in acknowledgment and strutted over, the others in his group following. Teddy continued. “You’re on the inside track now. So how’d the barbecue get contaminated?”
Fish hemmed and hawed, and September enjoyed watching the little man squirm. “See, I had to sign a nondisclosure agreement. That’s part of my new contract.” He preened. “Going to bring some Fish style to the show. I’m the new host, you know. Moving the show to Louisiana, though.”
Anita guffawed from the kitchen doorway before joining the party. “Everyone knows you ditched radio and got kicked upstairs. Couldn’t sign that contract fast enough.” She carried a fresh bottle in one hand, and her own cocktail glass in the other. “Anyone? Refills? More cold beer in the fridge. September, say the word when you want the champagne opened. It’s twenty minutes till midnight.”
September answered when Fish wouldn’t. “The CDC has to sort it all out. Felch is dead, and he was already so sick he probably couldn’t tell us anything anyway.” She sipped her wine. “BeeBo’s got to explain what he knows. I don’t think any nondisclosure will protect him. Besides, he’ll do it for his dogs. The man’s a true dog lover. I don’t think he had any idea or intention to cause problems. Dietz is the criminal.” Dietz and Victor used each other, and in her mind, were equally to blame.
“Dietz claims he knows nothing.” Gonzales waggled his empty beer bottle, and smoothed his mustache. “Time for a refill.” He hurried to the kitchen.
Combs set his beer on the table and cracked his knuckles. “I don’t buy Dietz’s denial.” He leaned closer to September, and her first instinct was to back away, but she took a breath and tried to relax. “Your theory works for me,” he said. “Tell them.”
All eyes focused on her, and she licked her lips. The unfamiliar taste of lipstick jarred her for a moment. Shadow pushed against her knee, the good one, and she steadied at his touch.
“I’ve done some research, and Doc Eugene put me in touch with some experts.” She smiled thanks at the veterinarian. “White tail deer can develop spontaneous prion disease. It’s called chronic wasting disease.” She took a breath. “When hunters take a deer, they don’t harvest the whole thing and the waste gets dumped. That’s typically the feet, the offal, and if it’s not trophy-worthy, the head. Sometimes they take the haunches, and dump the rest of the carcass.”
Doc Eugene rattled the ice in his glass, needing a refill but reluctant to leave the conversation. “They’re supposed to dispose of the waste properly. Not dump it in a ravine.”
“A ravine where other animals scavenge. Enter the feral hogs.” September drained her wine glass. “Pigs eat anything. The most common way to become infected with a prion disease is to eat contaminated tissue, most typically the brain or spine.”
Teddy sat on the arm of the chair. “Sorry, my arthritis leaves me achy.” He cleared his throat. “If I understand so far, infected deer get eaten by pigs, and people eat contaminated pigs. But that still doesn’t explain Aaron, if he doesn’t eat meat. Or Cassie Henderson, unless that single launch party meal exposure was enough to make her sick.”
“I don’t think any of them got sick from eating the pigs. Well, maybe the hunter’s dogs, and Felch’s barn cats.” September ran her thumb over the rim of the wine glass so it sang. “Nikki said several of the kittens became sick and died.”
Doc Eugene straightened and smiled broadly. “Did I tell you Nikki’s parents gave her permission to keep the mother cat?”
“She got to keep Hope? That’s fantastic.” September would never have forgiven herself if Nikki had been hurt. After the child’s terrifying experience, she deserved some happy news. “Between getting a cat for Christmas and having her dad come home, she must be walking on air. From what I understand, Nikki and her brother attended the TV launch while their mother picked up the dad at the airport, for a surprise.” She smiled at Doc Eugene. “So did you put in a word to her mom about dealing with cat allergies?”
“You bet I did. Nikki’s a sweet kid, totally cat crazy. She’s going to help Saturday mornings cleaning kennels and whatnot, in exchange for some basic cat care. I’m a bit short staffed at the moment with Timothy gone.” Doc Eugene’s voice turned gruff for a moment and then steadied. “I gave my test results to the CDC officials. BeeBo’s dog and Mr. Sanger’s cat Pinkerton were both positive for prion disease. Maybe a new variant.”
Gonzales returned to the group with fresh beer, and handed a bottle to Combs. Mercedes linked an arm through her husband’s and sipped her own wine.
Teddy took off his glasses and pointed them at September. “You say only the pets got it from eating the tainted meat?”
“Raw fed.” Doc Eugene shrugged. “Probably contaminated with neuro matter.”
“But not the people.” She sighed, twirled the wine glass again, and then carefully set it down before she accidentally broke it. “It’s complicated, but follow me here. Nikki said when the kids visited Felch’s barn earlier, they found a pile of bones.”
“Bones?” Mercedes hugged her husband’s arm and shivered. “He collected bones?”
September cocked her head. “Collected from the hunters’ ravine drop, yes. Felch processed them, and sold the result.” It explained everything, how the prions were distributed and people were exposed with no contact with the meat. “Felch boiled and charred them and then crushed up the bones into a fine powder, and sold it in bags to gardeners as bone meal fertilizer.”
Teddy’s stricken expression spoke volumes. “Molly bought a dozen bags of fertilizer a couple years ago from a local man. Bet it was Mr. Felch. I shared them with the local Master Gardener club when she had no more use for it, and even took a couple bags over to Sunnydale Nursing Home.” He rubbed his eyes, and put glasses back on with trembling hands. “That day you brought Shadow, we found Molly out in the garden area with one of the bags. Maybe she knew what had made her sick. She tried to tell me.”
September hugged him. “It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. Felch tried to make a buck recycling natural materials. Lots of people do that, and never have a problem. Besides, this is only a theory. But it would explain why Aaron and Cassie contracted the illness, too, if that’s what they’ve got.” The fault lay in Dietz trying to cover it up.
Doc Eugene drained the watery dregs of his drink. “There have been documented cases of prion disease contracted by inhaling contaminated material, like bone dust.”
“We’ve rounded up all the bags we can find.” Gonzales smiled at his wife. “Felch tried to be a good guy. He was on a mission to retrieve all the bags. That’s what he meant by damage control.”
Combs agreed. “Dietz wants us to believe that Felch killed Sly, but there’s no evidence of that.” He took a long pull on the beer. “I think Grady killed him to shut him up and didn’t expect September to find the body, or call the police. Then he told Dietz he’d clean up the mess in exchange for a cut of the show proceeds. We found a newly signed agreement in Dietz’s office.” He bent toward September. “He left Felch’s truck at one of the dump sites, with Macy’s prescription pill bottle under the seat, like you said, so that ties his vehicle to your kidnapping. No prints from Grady, though, so it’s circumstantial, not a slam-dunk.”
September resisted the urge to ask about leads on Victor, aka Grady. He’d disappeared, left Dietz holding the bag, and she feared the chameleon had again escaped justice.
At her urging, the CSIs collected claw trimmings from Macy, so they had Victor/Grady DNA. He wasn’t in any criminal database, though. To prove him guilty they had to catch him first.
It’d been two weeks. He’d disappeared before for years. The thought of him at large, at any moment able to again victimize her or someone else, made her want to scream. She shook herself and forced a smile. She wouldn’t let anything spoil this night.
“This is a party. Enough of the gloom and doom, let’s concentrate on the positives.” September picked up her empty wine glass. “Anita, time to break out something stronger.”
“After the champagne, sure.” Anita took her glass. “But we’ve got some toasts first, and only bubbly will do the trick.”
Her brow furrowed, but September waited as Anita and Fish bustled to the kitchen and returned with champagne for everyone.
Fish took the floor. “I’ve got the first toast. To a new career.” He winked. “Sometimes you can turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse.”
Everyone laughed, toasted, and sipped.
“Me next.” Gonzales held up his cell phone and winked at his wife. “Not even Combs knows this. Got the word a few minutes ago when getting my beer. The Captain has impeccable timing.” Combs groaned. More laughs. “Victor, aka Grady, is in custody”
Mercedes and Anita gasped and then gently clinked glasses.
The room rocked. September grabbed for anything to stay upright. “They caught him? Really?” Combs’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “They caught him.”
He beamed. “Best news I’ve heard all day. Here, here!”
She couldn’t stop smiling as she lifted her glass, and nearly choked when she tried to swallow the beverage. “He’ll try to wiggle out of it.”
“That cat’s DNA evidence combined with eye witness accounts—yours and Nikki’s—nail his balls to the wall.” Gonzales flinched when Mercedes punched him for the language, but everyone laughed. A giddy atmosphere overtook the room.
“Me next. First, sit down here.” Teddy pulled forward one of the dining room chairs for September and hurried to the office/music room next door.
Puzzled, but too happy and excited to object, September seated herself in the chosen chair. She smoothed the soft fabric of her dress, and leaned forward to rub Shadow’s ears when he settled beside her. The rest of the guests watched her face with smiles of anticipation.
“Close your eyes.” Combs touched her shoulder.
“What’s happening? Not sure I like where this is going.” But she did as he asked. “Everyone’s in on this, I suppose?”
Teddy’s limping footsteps approached, muffled on the deep carpet. “Hold out your hands.”
She did. And encountered a cool hard surface, silk smooth, familiar. Her eyes flew open.
“A cello?” She saw each excited face, all claiming the group gift, and her heart expanded, too full to contain all her emotion. “You got me a cello.” She took the bow Teddy presented with a flourish.
“That pole thing that sticks in the end? It’s there.” Combs pointed at the metal endpin that had helped her escape, and she bent down to release it, biting her lip to stop the trembling. “We recovered that from the barn. Part of your first cello, right?” Combs’s hand on her shoulder squeezed, and she put hers atop it and squeezed back. September didn’t bother wiping her eyes.
“I don’t know what to say. Except thank you.” She sniffled, and held up her glass. “To my friends.”
“To friends,” they echoed.
The clock began to strike midnight as Macy strolled into the room and curled up beside Shadow on the floor next to her. September stroked a hand from the cat’s domed head to the dog’s arched neck. “And to chosen family.”
Shadow barked at her words, licked her hand and banged his tail. September had no doubt they thought with the same mind, and loved with the same heart.
Everyone echoed the toast. “To chosen family.”
“And to new beginnings.” Combs stared into her eyes, and this time she met them without flinching away.
“Yes, to new beginnings.” She smiled.
He touched the gorgeous scroll of the instrument. “Play something?”
September quickly tested the strings, adjusted the tuning, and settled the cello between her knees. Where Melody had been as dark as her own sable hair, the face of this instrument shone as bright as the unfamiliar but welcome hope now filling her heart. She set her bow on the strings. “I’ll call you Harmony,” she whispered, and began to play a new joyous song.
The room fell still, listening, as the clock chimed midnight, announcing the beginning of the New Year.
Macy’s “ack-ack-ack-ack” lion cough answered the cello’s sweet voice, and Shadow tipped up his head and added his howl, a raucous trio the most beautiful sound of all.
“Everyone’s a critic.” September laughed, but didn’t stop. She’d never stop playing again.
