back from finding out more for his investigation, or that he’d found himself too keen to want to know more about her, to understand the anxiety that shadowed her eyes. Maybe even to want to make excuses for her. Damn but it was hard to keep his interest from becoming personal.
And now he had to go feign interest in a canine latrine.
But just as he made to follow her out back, the door from the reception area opened through into the playroom.
“Serena? Okay to come in? Kylie said you were in here.” The unfamiliar male voice echoed through the playroom.
Serena turned. A smile of genuine pleasure lit her face. “Joe! Hi! Come on through.”
Her smile was unforced, luminous. Nick had only seen her look like that at a dog. He was curious to see who had elicited it.
A middle-aged man with gray hair and a closely clipped salt and pepper beard let himself in through the pool gate. “Sorry to be so late,” he said.
“No problem,” said Serena, her face still lit with that smile. “It’s great to see you. Rosemary has been doing the pickups lately. I haven’t had the chance to catch up for ages.”
Serena turned back to Nick. “Joe and Rosemary and their darling golden Lab, Freya, were my very first clients. Joe, this is Nick Whalen; his Yorki-poo, Bessie, had her tryout day today.”
The man nodded cordially and offered his hand. Nick was so stunned he hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it.
He recognized this man.
But he could not in any way let on. He called on all his training to school his face into a mask of polite interest.
Joe’s hand felt damp in his hand and, this close, Nick noticed that his skin had a tinge that matched his hair. But the older man rustled up a smile for Nick. “Your dog will be very happy here, if our experience is anything to go by.”
There was an almost imperceptible catch to his voice on the last words that Serena didn’t seem to register. Or did Nick notice because he knew so much more about Serena’s other client?
“So far so good,” Nick said. “Bessie seems to be fitting in real well.”
And he had to keep up the act so Bessie would be here long enough for him to get the dirt on whatever was going on at Paws-A-While.
The other man hardly seemed to hear Nick’s words. It was if he were operating on autopilot on the surface while something altogether different was churning underneath. But Serena appeared oblivious to any hidden tensions in her client.
“Freya’s watching a movie in the television room,” she said to Joe. “We put the 101 Dalmatians DVD on for her and she’s been parked in front of it all afternoon.”
Joe smiled, in what Nick thought was a weary imitation of a doting-doggy-daddy smile. “That movie is her favorite.”
Nick forced himself to swallow a smart, decidedly non-doting remark. During his thirty-two years he’d seen quite a bit of life. But nothing had prepared him for the excesses he had encountered at this place.
Was there no end to the pampering of these pooches? Favorite DVDs, for heaven’s sake. What next? Was that the way he’d have to infiltrate here? Walking through the dog-dedicated TV room offering popcorn and snacks to the lazy, indulged animals reclining in their armchairs?
Serena’s face softened in that indulgent way it did, he was learning, when she was talking about a favorite dog. “I’m not so sure about how much of the cartoon Freya sees,” she said to Joe, “but it keeps her happy for an hour or so.”
Sure it did. Did the mutt have its personal soda fountain, too? Soft-serve ice cream on call? Twizzlers, anyone?
Joe nodded. “You know, I’m not sure that it’s about the actual movie. I think she just likes to hear the human voices. They comfort her.”
Serena turned to Nick. “Freya’s very old, past sixteen. She’s going blind and she’s a bit deaf but she’s the sweetest thing you ever met.” She turned back to her other client. Her voice gentled. “Freya’s had a good