Free Meow is for Murder by Linda O. Johnston

relieved I should sound about Leon’s demise, and how pleased I should be that Jeff’s execrable ex was a suspect.

    I was greeted at the doggy resort not only by Lexie and some other pups who’d escaped from their play areas, but also by another familiar state of affairs these days.

    Darryl had collected yet another law client for me.

    She sat in his office with her Pomeranian on her lap. Darryl stood at his establishment’s big front desk, near where I entered.

    “Her name is Mae,” he whispered, then unobtrusively waved toward the large indoor window he’d installed so he could watch his world from the sanctity of his hideaway.

    “The owner or the Pom?” I asked.

    “The owner. Mae Sward. Her pup is Sugar.”

    As I entered Darryl’s office with him right behind, I noticed that Sugar had one of those plastic cones cupping her head, the kind that kept dogs from gnawing stitches and skin after surgery.

    “Kendra, meet Mae. Mae, this is the attorney I’ve told you about, Kendra—”

    Mae Sward didn’t dally for further introductions but stood, securing her dog under her large left arm. She was more than a little bit chunky, with curly hair in an orange shade that suggested she’d tried hard to resemble her cute little Pom. She wore an oversized silky blue top over well-filled jeans.

    “Oh, Kendra, I’m so glad to meet you.” She stuck out her right hand, and I shook it. Her grip was businesslike. “Did Darryl tell you what happened?”

    Her eyes, somewhat hidden beneath the flesh of her face, overflowed with tears. The poor lady’s pain was nearly palpable. That spurred my sympathy.

    “No, he didn’t. Let’s sit down, and you can fill me in.”

    “It’s Sugar,” she wailed. She settled back in her chair while removing the fluffy pup from under her arm and sticking her back on her ample lap.

    “I’ll leave you ladies to your legal discussion,” Darryl said from the doorway and hastily retreated. Okay, he was a guy and so far this promised to be a girl thing, a session simmering with emotion. Only, I wished he’d stayed, at least till I understood the issues. I might be the one seeking emotional support. And a graceful out, if I didn’t decide to take the case.

    Sugar sat on Mae’s legs, staring morosely. I admit to having an overactive imagination, especially when it comes to assuming I understand what an animal is attempting to convey, but I swear that Sugar was glumly attempting to tell her side of the story. Whatever it was.

    I soon learned it from Mae, who had no compunction about revealing the terrible truth: “Sugar has been spayed,” she moaned, as if that was the most horrifying sentence in the English language. Or in Pomeranian.

    Mae stared with teary eyes as if anticipating my equally appalled reaction. But so far, I’d heard nothing especially revolting. In fact, pet neutering was usually considered to be necessary, both for ultimate health reasons and because of the excess of unwanted pups in shelters everywhere.

    Not that I’d neutered Lexie yet. I still harbored hopes of her having baby Cavaliers someday. But I’d need to plan that day soon, if at all.

    Unsure how to react, I simply reflected the woman’s words back to her. “So Sugar has been neutered. I see.”

    “No, you don’t. She’s had three litters so far, and several of her puppies were promising show dogs. I’d hoped for more.”

    “So you had her spayed . . . why?”

    “I didn’t,” Mae barked. “That’s the whole point. That horrible vet operated on her without even asking me. Look, my daughter is watching Sugar’s latest litter now. They’re at my house—three of the cutest little Pomeranian puppies imaginable. I wanted to hurry home to them, but I stayed a little later because Darryl said you’d pick up your dog around now, and I wanted to meet you. Long story short: I had to take Sugar to the vet this time to have her puppies since they were coming out slowly and I was worried