To Sketch a Thief (21 page)

The two men maneuvered Hobo off the gurney and onto the soft palette in the crate and then closed the door. Hobo was still unconscious, but his breathing had become more peaceful.

After Holbrook left, the aide brought in a padded desk chair for Rory. She pushed the chair up against Hobo’s crate and sat down. She was weary to the bone, but wired with adrenaline. She reached through the bars to put her hand over Hobo’s paw and settled in for a long night’s vigil.

Chapter 28

R
ory awoke with a start. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Her neck was stiff and her lower back ached like a bad molar, but her spirits soared when she realized it was Hobo pushing against her hand with his oxygen-clad muzzle that had roused her.

He was still lying on his side, but his eyes were open and when she smiled at him he rewarded her with a thump of his tail. The tears she’d managed to control until then flooded her eyes and spilled down her cheeks from sheer relief. As she scratched behind his ears, one of the spots he loved best, she told him how happy she was to see him awake and how sorry she was to have been the cause of so much misery. After a few minutes, she tore herself away to find Dr. Rosen and give her the good news.

When Rory opened the door and peered into the corridor, she found it empty. The building was eerily quiet. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was barely dawn. Too early for appointments or for the regular staff to be in yet. Before she could start searching for Dr. Rosen, she saw the vet turn into the corridor from the direction of the kitchen, a steaming mug in her hand. She picked up her pace when she saw Rory standing there.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, trying to keep the hot liquid from slopping out of the mug as she hurried toward her.

“He’s awake.” Rory practically sang the words. “He even wagged his tail.”

The vet’s expression changed from concern to guarded happiness. When she reached Rory, she handed her the mug.

“Untouched,” she said, as she went straight to Hobo’s crate. “You’re welcome to it if you don’t mind milk and sugar. I’ll get more later.” She opened the door to the crate and smiled when Hobo wagged his tail for her. Rory was aglow with pride, like a proud parent whose child has shown signs of genius.

The vet listened to his lungs and gently explored his abdomen with her fingers. Then she took the oxygen mask off his snout and turned to Rory. “I think we’re out of the woods,” she said.

“Thank goodness. When can I take him home?”

“We should watch him for another couple of days. With a possible cyanide poisoning we need to check his blood regularly so we can monitor his organs. If he has no setbacks, we can talk about discharging him.”

Rory was running through her options as she listened to the vet. She could ask her aunt and her parents to take turns staying there to guard Hobo during the day so that she’d be able to keep her appointment for the delivery of the puppy. And if she got in a nap and filled her tank with some industrial-strength coffee, she should be able to make it through another night shift.

After a couple of phone calls, Helene and her folks were on board. She had to be discreet when explaining why Hobo needed to be watched around the clock in a place that was supposedly doing just that. Helene was twice as happy with the assignment once she heard the undercover aspects of it.

“I won’t even leave his side to go to the bathroom. I’ll stop taking fluids right now.”

Rory tried to convince her that dehydration wasn’t a good idea and that it might land her in an adjoining crate.

An hour later her mother arrived for the first shift. When Dr. Holbrook balked at the idea of a continuing presence by the McCain clan, Rory had an explanation ready. She told him that since Hobo had saved her life, she and her family felt this was the least they could do in his time of need. Holbrook’s expression told her that he thought they were all crazy, but he didn’t say so. He just shook his head and reminded her they’d have to stay in the room with Hobo and out of the way.

Rory left for home, hoping more than ever that Holbrook wasn’t involved in the dognappings. Finding another vet who’d accommodate an emotional, possibly irrational owner might not be easy.

T
he first thing Rory did when she arrived home from the vet was to take a long, hot shower. Then she crawled into bed for a nap. The puppy wasn’t going to be delivered until two in the afternoon, but she set her alarm, afraid that she might oversleep. She couldn’t remember having ever been quite so tired before. Zeke didn’t put in an appearance, which was fine with her. No doubt he was still recharging from providing Hobo’s transportation to the car. She owed him a huge thank-you, but that would have to wait until they were both in better shape.

When the alarm woke Rory at one o’clock she was momentarily disoriented. She was in her house, in her bed, but why was she wearing jeans? And what day was it anyway? She groped through the fog in her brain like someone groping in the dark for a light switch. Then, as if she’d flicked that switch, the fog cleared and everything came back to her—Hobo! the sting!

She jumped out of bed and pushed her feet into the loafers she’d left on the floor. Then she loaded the .45, tucked it into the holster suspended from her belt and made sure she had a set of plastic handcuffs in her purse. She was pulling a comb through her hair when her stomach started grumbling about neglect. She realized that she hadn’t eaten a thing since lunch the day before. To appease her body, and because she couldn’t afford to faint in the middle of the sting, she grabbed an apple and ate it while she drove to Helene’s. As it worked out, Rory didn’t have to worry about her aunt hiding in bushes or on rooftops to watch the delivery of the puppy. She’d arranged the shifts at the vet so that Helene would be watching Hobo instead.

She let herself into her aunt’s town house at one thirty. She had half an hour to wait. She settled herself in the living room near a window that faced the street, so she’d know as soon as the deliveryman arrived. She started reading the newspaper, but gave up when she realized she wasn’t absorbing a thing. She made two calls to check on Hobo, first to the front desk for a formal status report, then to Helene’s cell phone for a more subjective and detailed view. Everyone seemed to think he was doing exceptionally well.

By three she could no longer sit still, so she started rearranging Helene’s DVD collection alphabetically. At three thirty she’d completely run out of patience. She dialed Dog’s World. Debbie answered the phone as usual, but when Rory identified herself, the woman’s tone changed from cheerful to guarded.

“Is there a problem with the delivery?” Rory asked politely. She didn’t want to get snippy with Dog’s World, since she needed them a lot more than they needed her.

“No, well, yes, sort of,” Debbie babbled. She clearly didn’t cope well with stress. Rory couldn’t imagine why they’d hired her. It was a good bet that a company in the business of stealing dogs and reselling them was a stressful place to work. Maybe she was the mother, sister or daughter of the head honcho. Nepotism in the workplace could be ugly.

“So there
is
a problem?” Rory asked, forcing her to choose one answer.

“Yes, a problem on the supplier’s end.”

So why in hell didn’t anyone call to tell me that? she felt like yelling. But what she actually said was, “Oh no, you can’t imagine how much I was looking forward to getting that puppy.” She was going for devastated with a splash of vulnerability. “I went out and bought him a bed and toys and everything.” She added a sniffle for effect. “What happens now? When will I get him?”

“I’m sorry. All I can tell you is that we don’t presently have your puppy, and we don’t know when we will,” Debbie said without inflection. She’d either been given a script to read or she lacked the gene for compassion.

“Will you call me when you do?” Rory asked.

“Okay, but there’s no way to tell how long that might be.”

Rory thanked her and hung up. She was frustrated and angry. If there’d been something unbreakable to throw she would have thrown it. Debbie was lying. The beagle puppy had already been stolen. Either they’d sold him to another client for more money or they’d somehow gotten wind of who she was and pulled the plug on her. If they’d wanted to keep her as a customer, she reasoned, they would have called, apologized and made some excuse as to why they couldn’t deliver the puppy as scheduled. Since they hadn’t called, it was more than likely they wanted nothing more to do with her.

She went over everything in her mind from her first conversation with Dog’s World to the one twenty-four hours ago when they’d called to tell her the puppy was available. At first she couldn’t see how or when things might have gone awry, but then it struck her and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized it before. If the man she’d heard over the speakerphone had sounded familiar to her, the odds were that she’d sounded familiar to him as well. Only, he’d been able to put a name to the voice in time to avert disaster. Score a point for the opposing team.

After dealing herself a harsh mental flogging, Rory decided there was still reason to be heartened. She’d known the man’s voice even if she couldn’t place it yet, and he had known hers. That meant there was a good chance he was one of her suspects. It was only a matter of time before she zeroed in on him.

R
ory spent a second night in the chair beside Hobo’s crate. She’d brought along a pillow so that she didn’t have to rest her head against the metal bars. By now the entire veterinary staff thought she was mad as a hatter. They spoke slowly to her in sweet tones as if she were fragile and required special care. Rory didn’t bother trying to correct their misconception. Hobo was doing well and that was really all that mattered.

Later the following day he’d recovered well enough for Dr. Holbrook to discharge him. He was back on solid food and loudly protesting his incarceration. Rory’s father had taken the last shift, freeing her to buy groceries and run some other errands. When she walked back into what she now thought of as Hobo’s room, her father was sitting beside the crate, listening to his iPod and conducting an imaginary orchestra with an air baton while he read a paperback. Hobo was lying with his head between his paws, looking lower than a pregnant ant, as her uncle Mac used to say. As soon as he caught sight of her, he jumped up, hitting the top of the crate in the process. Unfazed, he started yodeling his joy, while his tail went into hyperdrive. The racket made it past the music being piped into her father’s ears and he finally looked up.

“Mission accomplished, ma’am.” He popped out his earbuds and snapped her a neat salute. “One Hobo safe and sound as instructed.”

Rory grinned, returning the salute.

Frustrated that no one was paying attention to him, Hobo let loose with another hearty round of Alpine vocals that brought Holbrook double-timing it into the room.

“Your dog’s got an impressive set of lungs there,” he said, flashing his overbleached smile as he went about setting Hobo free. “They can hear him out in the waiting room and halfway to Manhattan.”

Rory laughed. If she’d known Hobo’s serenade could bring the vet running, they wouldn’t have had to wait so long the first time she’d brought him there.

While an ecstatic Hobo kept trying to jump into her arms, Holbrook went over some basic instructions with her. “Keep him hydrated and give him small amounts to eat several times a day instead of one big meal. I wouldn’t let him run any marathons for a while either. In fact, he’s probably going to want to sleep more than usual for a few days. Just take your cues from him. He’s been through quite an ordeal.”

Rory thanked him for saving Hobo’s life, which he had. Of course there was still the question of whether he’d arranged to have the dog poisoned to begin with.

“Nice guy,” her father remarked as they walked out to their cars.

“The best,” she said, hoping that in fact it was true.

When they got home, Hobo took some time to sniff every corner of the house, perhaps to determine if there was still a ghost in residence. Then he curled up on the living room couch and fell fast asleep.

He slept a lot over the next two days, going from one of his favorite snoozing spots to another. Rory stayed home, afraid that if she left him alone and Zeke made an appearance, it would be too much for him. When Tina called to see how the patient was doing, she mentioned that every dog she’d ever known adored chicken soup. Rory immediately called her mother for the family recipe that had been passed down from one generation of women to the next for at least a thousand years, if her grandmother was to be believed.

Hobo confirmed Tina’s statement. He wolfed down the soup and chicken as if he hadn’t eaten in a week, which was true to some extent, and then he begged for more. When he realized no more would be immediately forthcoming he ambled off to find his next napping place.

While Hobo whiled away the hours healing, and chasing rabbits and squirrels in his dreams, Rory spent much of that time at the computer in the study. She’d decided that the best way to thank Zeke would be to renew her efforts to find out who’d killed him and thereby give his restless soul some peace.

Unfortunately, in spite of her best efforts, she kept coming up empty. The train ticket was the only evidence that tied the killer to this house and that day in 1878, so she didn’t have a lot to go on. As nice as the people at the Tucson and Phoenix historical societies were, they couldn’t offer her much help. Yes, Ezekiel Drummond had been a federal marshal. And yes, his last case involved a fugitive by the name of John Trask who was wanted for raping and murdering five young girls. Rory was welcome to come down there and read through all the material they had from that time period to see if she could find out anything more. And no, they were sorry, but most of that material was not available online. With each website Rory visited, it became increasingly apparent that she’d have to make a trip to Arizona. In the meantime, an IOU of her intentions would be the best she could do by way of thanking Zeke.

She pushed back from the computer, plucked the dognapping file off the desk and went downstairs. She found Hobo asleep on the living room floor, basking in the sunlight that was shining through the large front window. She sat down on the couch to review her notes, with the hope of spotting a new connection or lead she’d somehow overlooked before. Within five minutes her eyelids were drooping and she gave in to the luxury of a nap. It had been a rough few days for her too.