like.
Besides if it were him, what was the motive? The two were successful partners and from what I could tell had always seemed to get along.
And besides, if Cash were on the run, he would have taken his cat. The man was truly attached to his cat.
Detective Malone, or Detective Hottie as Betty liked to call him, finished up his call and glanced my way.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He walked to the entry and peered out. “Still there. All right, we’re going to out. You go first and I’ll follow a little slower. He’ll go for me and you should be able to get in your car and drive away. Ready?”
“Ready.” I nodded.
Malone opened the door, and I stepped through. The reporter pounced right away. I made a beeline for my car as Malone had instructed. Malone lagged behind, and I could see the dilemma on Mr. TV’s face.
He turned toward Malone. “Detective, what did you find?” Obviously an official comment would carry more air-time clout.
“No comment,” I could hear Malone answer.
I reached my car, opened the door, and looked his way.
Malone gave a slight nod, and I slid in and started my car.
I drove quickly to the next house call which was a couple with a young Bichon Frisé. Bichon Frisé means “curly lap dog,” and Alf was that and so much more. The dogs are small and sturdy, and their dark inquisitive eyes are guaranteed to tug at your heartstrings.
Judi and Michael, the couple who owned Alf, had been referred to me by Dr. Daniel Darling, a good friend and our local veterinarian. Alf had developed such a severe limp they could no longer take him for walks. Dr. Daniel, after a full battery of tests, had ruled out any possible injury or physical cause for the limp. He recommended they have me take a look at Alf and get my thoughts.
This was just a get-to-know-you visit. As you might have already figured out, much of my work with problem pets is really working with pet parents. To truly assess the situation, I’ve got to understand the day-to-day workings of the household and the people dynamics as well as the pet ones.
The little dog was friendly but would sometimes whine as if hurt. Often, the couple said, it happened if Alf were touched unexpectedly. His limp was pronounced, but he was still playful and chased down toys or treats. I enjoyed the time with the couple and with Alf and had some ideas but held back on sharing them. I wanted to do a little research first on post-traumatic stress in animals. I promised to drop back by in a week.
Relieved the couple hadn’t questioned me about seeing me on the news or the murder investigation, I stopped by the office and in the quiet transcribed a few of my notes. I’d intended to only do some preliminary research on the topic of PTSD in animals, but when I finally glanced at the clock, I realized I’d been at it almost an hour. It was surprising, both on the human side and the animal side, how little we understood about the effect of traumatic events on the psyche. Puppy mill dogs often show varying degrees of post-traumatic stress disorder due to the abhorrent conditions they’ve endured. I knew Judi and Mark would never buy from a puppy mill, but they’d gotten Alf from a friend, so the transfer of ownership was unclear.
If I was right, it would take patience and dedication to rehabilitate Alf, and so I wanted to be sure before I offered an opinion.
I stopped outside my office door to make sure I had my car keys. Psychic Suzanne stepped into the lobby from her office at the same time. It looked like she was calling it a day as well.
“Have a good evening,” I called to her.
“Beware of strangers,” she replied as she walked out.
I closed my door with an irritated snap. The woman had a knack for throwing out unsettling but generic warnings.
Starting my car, I tuned the radio to a favorite classical station and was pleased when the strains of Mozart’s Eine kleine Nachtmusik began. I put the car in gear. A little night music was
David Niall Wilson, Bob Eggleton
Lotte Hammer, Søren Hammer