Free Let Sleeping Dogs Lie by Suzann Ledbetter Page A

darling's wellness care.
     
     
"Veterinarian's name?"
     
     
Aw, for crying out loud. The furball wasn't applying for a seat on the next space shuttle. To Jack's enormous relief, the groomer snagged the rabies tag dangling on Sweetie Pie Snug 'Ems's collar and copied the vet's name and office number.
     
     
A few minutes later, he walked to his car happily dogless and thoroughly edified in boarding-kennel protocol. Also bereft of TLC's pretty, very short groomer's name and home phone number.
     
     
An opportunity to pop those questions hadn't presented itself. Such as her referring to Jack by name, so he could coolly, casually reply, "And yours?"
     
     
"Tomorrow, pilgrim." He buckled the seat belt. "First you have to catch the bad guy. Then you get the girl."
     
     
    * * *
Dina cuddled the Maltese. Its button eyes goggled and darted, much like Harriet's when waking in her chair, uncertain whether she'd nodded off or was kidnapped by Martians and returned in the blink of a tractor beam.
     
     
"There's nothing to be afraid of, sweetie," Dina murmured.
     
     
The dog's head swiveled upward. It looked at her, still a bit perplexed, yet oddly reassured.
     
     
She kissed the crown of its silky head, breathing in—
     
     
Dina took a second, deeper whiff. Pond's cold cream and Estée Lauder perfume?
     
     
"What a cutie patootie." Gwendolyn Ellicot swung open the gate between the hallway and the grooming station. "What's his name?"
     
     
"Hers," Dina corrected. "And it's Fido, if you can believe that."
     
     
"Not the dog's." The kennel's owner grinned and pointed toward the parking area. "The guy who brought her in." She moved to the counter and picked up Fido's registration form. "By what I saw from my office, he took one look at you and forgot he owned a dog."
     
     
Gwendolyn's ruling passions were dogs and fix-ups. Trust her to slap a cutie-patootie label on any man who's ambulatory, old enough to vote and bathes regularly.
     
     
There was nothing above average about Jack McPhee. Medium height, medium build. His medium brown hair had an eleven-o'clock part and was blocked in back a half inch above his shirt collar. Even the car rolling down the driveway was midsize and as medium blue as his eyes.
     
     
Dina couldn't imagine why a funny feeling, like a hunger pang on spin cycle, had ziggled south of her rib cage when they made eye contact. And now, just thinking about it.
     
     
She sloughed it off along with her part-time employer's incurable matchmaking. "Forget it, Auntie Mame. Even if I was interested, which I'm not, Mr. McPhee isn't my type." She patted Fido's pouffy head. "And I'm pretty sure I'm not his type."
     
     
Gwendolyn crossed her arms, as if fending off Cupid's evil twin. "Then why was he flirting with you?"
     
     
"I wouldn't call it—"
     
     
"All right, so that tie of his probably glows in the dark, but the suit was Brooks Brothers. My husband has one exactly like it—or did, until he gave up trying to lose thirty pounds and I took it to a resale shop."
     
     
"Will you—"
     
     
"Jack McPhee lives on LakeShore Boulevard, Dina." Gwendolyn tapped the registration form, emphasizing each syllable, as one might impress upon a small child a need to clean her room. "Starter homes in that development have four bathrooms."
     
     
Not much of an incentive, since Dina couldn't keep two bathrooms clean. She held up the Maltese. "See the collar?"
     
     
"Pink. So what? She's female, it matches the leash and—"
     
     
"Check out the pedicure."
     
     
Gwendolyn blanched a little, then flapped a hand. "You detest painting dogs' toenails, but some groomers think it's cute. And McPhee could have a daughter that thinks it's cute, too."
     
     
"Doubtful, unless she's adopted." Dina set Fido on the counter. "Smell her head."
     
     
"What? Why?"
     
     
"Humor me."
     
     
Gwendolyn leaned over, sniffed, recoiled, then sniffed again. "Well, hell."
     
     
That's pretty much how Dina felt, too,