Better Read Than Dead (21 page)

On the far end table next to the couch was a beautiful silver picture frame, and inside the frame was a five-by-seven photo of me taken when Dutch and I had gone to the state fair. I’d forgotten all about the roll of film Dutch had shot that day, and as I picked up the picture a new wave of guilt knotted in my stomach.

How could I doubt a guy who had a photo of me encased in a silver frame on his end table? To reinforce that idea, I felt my intuition weigh in, and I knew that Dutch was serious about us, and that I didn’t need to doubt him anymore. My insecurities were more about past relationships than present ones, and I knew I needed to reel in the green-eyed monster and learn to trust again. With a smile I put the picture back down on the tabletop and gave Virgil one more good scratch before setting the alarm and heading home, feeling much better than when I’d arrived.

When I got back to my place I found Cat in my robe and a towel wrapped turban style around her head, sitting in my kitchen having a cup of tea. “Hey, there,” she said as she gave me a small, sheepish smile.

“Hey, there,” I said, playfully bumping her with my hip as I set the groceries on the table.

“Sorry I borrowed your robe; I didn’t bring any extra clothes with me.”

I regarded my sister ensconced in my bathrobe as it puddled around her feet. I’ve got six inches on Cat, and about twenty pounds. She’s a natural blond to my artificially enhanced color, and her eyes are vividly bluer. She wears her hair short, spiky and messy—Sharon Stone style, and her preferred color of wardrobe is white, right down to her shoes. I haven’t seen her in anything that wasn’t a designer label since the nineties, and her favorite mode of transport is chauffeured. Cat believes in the finer things, and, lucky for her, she’s made enough money to be able to afford most of them.

Seeing her in my beat-up flannel robe with a turban on her head took a minute to get used to. “Comfy?”

“As a matter of fact I am. What is this material?” she asked, picking at the sleeve of my robe.

“Flannel,” I said, rolling my eyes. I only half believed she was pulling my leg.

“Ah. Yes, I remember. Well, are we still on for lunch and shopping?”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you go get ready while I put the groceries away?”

“Meet you back here in fifteen minutes,” she said, getting up from the table and picking up the bottom of my robe so as not to trip over the hem. “By the way,” she called over her shoulder, “your room is a refrigerator!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, avoiding an explanation. If my sister knew why my room was so cold she would want to fix it, and pay for it too.

Exactly fifteen minutes later Cat met me back in the kitchen wearing the same white suit I’d seen her in that morning. “Would you mind if we stopped off at Neiman’s before lunch? I have
got
to get out of this suit!”

“Sure, and don’t tell me you’ve already called ahead.”

“Of course I have. We’re meeting Crystal in the couture department in twenty minutes.”

“My sister, ever the efficient shopper,” I said, grabbing my purse and giving Eggy a kiss as we headed out the door.

 

Cat purchased four outfits that varied in color from pearl to off-white to two separate shades of cream. She then bought several pairs of underclothes and a silk nightgown, along with various toiletries. We also stopped in the luggage department, where she picked up a small carry-on bag so that she could lug all of her new belongings home. We left the store with Cat wearing one of the new cream outfits, and headed to PF Chang’s for a gourmet Chinese lunch.

We sat in a corner booth and gossiped, laughed and caught up for nearly two hours. I could tell our waitress was losing her patience, but had no doubt she’d be grateful when she discovered the fifty-dollar tip my sister left her.

Finally at four o’clock we got back in the car, and I looked at Cat expectantly. “So, where to?”

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

“Come on, Cat, I know you. Which hotel have you booked?”

Sheepishly my sister confessed with a sigh, “The Troy Hilton. I believe it’s just down the road.” Cat would have booked the presidential suite and probably ordered a massage and pedicure for later. She considered my modest accommodations the equivalent of camping outside without a tent or sleeping bag, and she and I had a long-standing agreement that when she came to town she would stay at a nearby luxury hotel, and I wouldn’t have to wait on her hand and foot. Trust me, the arrangement worked for both of us.

I smiled at her and asked, “And when are you catching a plane back home?”

“Well, I know you have to work tomorrow, but I feel like I’ve barely seen you at all. How about if I get some rest tonight and tomorrow we can have lunch together, then catch a movie and hang out tomorrow night? I’d also like to pop in on my friend Danielle—you remember her from high school?”

Danielle was my sister’s best friend in high school. The two were inseparable their senior year, but Cat had opted for Harvard, and Danielle had chosen a small local university here in Michigan. The two now led very different lives, but still kept in touch and remained close. They had children the same age, and I knew Cat would enjoy spending some time with her.

“Sounds like a plan. Tomorrow can be our night, and you can see Danielle on Thursday and catch a plane ride back Thursday night.”

“Perfect,” Cat sighed, leaning back in the seat. She looked exhausted, and I knew that an evening of being pampered at the hotel would probably be very good for her.

Half an hour later, after dropping Cat off, I pulled back into my driveway and stopped at the mailbox to retrieve the mail. I let myself inside and greeted Eggy, who was dancing on his hind legs, happy to see me. I gave him a quick kiss and walked through the kitchen to the back door, letting him out.
Poor guy,
I thought. He’d been cooped up all day.

I went back to sifting through the mail when a thought buzzed through my mind:
Go find Eggy!

I blinked and hesitated, sorting through the mail for a moment, unsure what the message meant. Suddenly it came again, even more urgently this time.

I dropped the mail and bolted out the back door, shouting, “Eggy!” as I came into the backyard. I looked frantically in the fading light for my chocolate-colored pooch and finally located him halfway across the yard. I breathed a sigh of relief; he was fine, just sniffing at something across the yard.

I was half turning back toward the house when I suddenly got the thought,
Go to Eggy!

Something was very, very wrong. Without hesitation I bolted across the yard, calling to him, but Eggy was too interested in what he was sniffing. I reached him quickly and snatched him up in my arms, panic coursing through my veins, and I couldn’t figure out why. That was when I saw what Eggy was sniffing at, and my blood ran cold.

A large doggy dish lay surrounded by leaves, obscuring it from the view of the house. Inside the dish was a thick steak, soaked in flourescent liquid. Next to the dish was a discarded small container of antifreeze. “Oh, my God!” I gasped, and bolted with Eggy into the house. In the light of my kitchen I looked closely at his muzzle, but couldn’t tell if he’d licked up any of the liquid. In a panic I grabbed my purse and the pet carrier from the closet and ran out the door to my car. Peeling out of the driveway I flew at outrageous speeds to my vet. If Eggy had consumed any of the antifreeze there would be very little the vet could do.

Tears slid down my cheeks as I squealed into the parking lot of the Royal Oak Animal Hospital, and I muttered, “Oh, God, please,
please
let him be okay!” I picked up the carrier with a trembling hand and ran full-tilt into the building. There was a receptionist who was startled as I came up to the counter and begged for assistance. “It’s my dog!” I nearly shouted. “I think he’s ingested some antifreeze! Please,
please,
you have to help him!”

The receptionist quickly came around the counter and grabbed the carrier from me, then ran into the back room. I stood there gulping my terror as I watched the door close behind her, and I tried to collect myself and stem the panic flooding my heart with adrenaline.

Seeing my distress, a kind, elderly woman approached me and gently led me over to a row of chairs. I sat down numbly and cried great painful sobs as she patted my hand and said, “There, there. He’s in capable hands. They’ll take good care of him. You’ll see.”

I wanted desperately to believe her, but terror was gripping my heart in a vise. Eggy was like my child. I had nurtured him from a tiny puppy as if he were my own baby, and I had no idea how I would ever cope without him. I rocked back and forth in the chair, anxiously watching for the reappearance of the receptionist.

She came back a few minutes later, and I stood up as she approached me. “The doctor is with him now. Can you come to the counter and fill out some information?” she asked gently.

Numbly I nodded and moved to the counter with her. There I gave her my information, then quickly took my seat again. I gave a small smile to the old woman, who offered me a tissue and held my hand as my foot tapped and unbidden tears dropped from my eyes. At this hour the waiting room was packed with pets and their owners, but no one in the lobby spoke, and as I looked around trying to distract myself I could see them all avoiding my eyes, hugging their pets a little closer.

Finally, after half an hour, my veterinarian, Dr. Markland, came out and called to me. I jumped up and nearly ran to her. “Is he okay? Is he all right? Please tell me he’s okay!” I pleaded.

She put a gentle hand on my shoulder and said, “I think he’s fine. There was no trace of antifreeze in his mouth, but we induced vomiting just to be safe. I didn’t see any of it in his bile either, so I think we’re safe. Still, I want to keep him overnight, if that’s all right with you.”

I let out a sob of relief, and it was a moment before I could respond. “That’s fine . . . yes, anything as long as he’s okay,” I burbled.

“I really think he will be. How about we call you in the morning and see if he’s well enough to go home then?”

I nodded emotionally, trying to get a grip. I was just so relieved that he wasn’t going to die it was hard to keep it together. Dr. Markland stroked my arm and smiled kindly at me. “Did you want to see him before you go home?”

I nodded again, and she walked me to the back. We went to a large room where several dogs and cats were being boarded or treated for illness. Eggy was lying down in a wire crate on the bottom shelf, sandwiched between a miniature poodle and a Pekingese. I squatted down and poked my fingers through the bars, Eggy looked dazed and out of it, and didn’t respond to my touch. I was alarmed at his nonreaction, and Dr. Markland explained, “He’s been sedated. The best thing for him right now is to be calm and get some rest. We’ll see how he’s doing in the morning, and I’ll be able to assess whether or not there was any nerve damage.”

“Nerve damage?” I asked sharply. “He could have nerve damage?”

Dr. Markland’s eyes became pinched. “It happens sometimes. Antifreeze is incredibly poisonous to animals. My feeling is that if he had ingested any he would have shown symptoms within two to three minutes—it’s hard to miss. I really think he’ll be fine, but we just want to be cautious until tomorrow, okay?”

I nodded and stroked the soft part of his muzzle one last time. I got up with my head bent and followed her back out to the lobby. Dr. Markland asked me before I left, “So how did Eggy come into contact with antifreeze?”

The question hung there for a second as my mind whirred with what to tell her. I knew in an instant who had put the poison in my backyard, and the fury of it formed a fist of hatred in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t very well tell Dr. Markland, however, that the Mafia had tried to kill my dog, so I said, “I had a jug of it in the basement, and I didn’t know the cap was loose. Eggy must have knocked it over, and I found him sniffing at it when I went downstairs. I wasn’t sure if he drank any or not, but I thought it was best to rush him here and make sure.”

Dr. Markland nodded, accepting my explanation, and said, “Lucky you found him so quickly. Once a dog drinks more than a capful there’s very little we can do.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Thanks for your help, Dr. Markland.”

She squeezed my arm and turned to go back to her next patient.

I checked out with the receptionist, leaving the carrier behind so that I didn’t have to lug it there when I went to pick Eggy up in the morning. I walked out to my Mazda with a heavy heart and inserted the key. Just before I got behind the wheel I noticed a familiar sedan with smoked windows drive by, and the moment it passed me, my cell phone rang. As I watched the sedan ease down the street I flipped open the phone and said, “Hello?”

A thick voice impeded by an oversize tongue said, “Sorry about your dog,” and then the line went dead.

“Really, Abby, Eggy is fine. You can pick him up anytime this morning,” Dr. Markland reassured me.

I let go of the tightly held breath keeping me suspended in anxious worry. I’d been so concerned about Eggy that I hadn’t slept all night, and as I sank into the cushion of relief I could feel my brain dumb down a little, the fog of exhaustion and worry making my thoughts less coherent. “Thank you, Dr. Markland; I’ll be right over.”

As I hung up the phone, however, my gaze strayed out to the backyard, and apprehension began to buzz around inside my chest. I’d removed the dog dish and the surrounding leaves the night before, but that didn’t mean that Andros’s men couldn’t be successful next time. If Andros wanted to kill Eggy, I had no doubt he would find a way.

No,
I thought.
Eggy is too vulnerable here.

I could board him at the veterinary, but the problem was that I was in a cash crunch at the moment, and it would be expensive to keep him there. Plus I doubted Eggy would put up with that for long—he didn’t like being confined.