The door to the shop banged open and Docia jumped. “Ms. Kent?” A deep, rumbling voice said politely.
Kevin Brody, the chief of police, wore his uniform better than any of his subordinates, but Docia figured he’d been at it longer than they had. And it would take more than a uniform to make Ham Linklatter or Clete Morris look good. Brody’s khaki shirt stretched across his beefy shoulders as if it had been custom made. The creases in his uniform pants were knife sharp. Even the buff cowboy hat looked better on Brody than it did on Ham or Clete.
“Chief,” Docia said. “Can I help you?”
“You called the station,” Brody said. “I came to check out the complaint.” His gray eyes gave Docia a brief up-and-down inspection without a great deal of interest.
“Oh.” Docia suddenly felt small and insignificant, something that rarely happened to her. “Well. I just wanted to tell someone about my cat. That he was shot. I didn’t really expect… I thought Ham or Clete would come.”
“Both on assignment.” Brody pulled out a notebook. “Cat was shot. Dead?”
Docia shivered. “No. He survived.”
Brody raised an eyebrow. “Hell of a cat.”
“He is.” Docia nodded. “The vet said he was probably shot with a twenty-two.”
“Did you see it happen?”
“No. It was while I was out having dinner.”
Brody frowned. “You know where the cat was when it was shot?”
“Right here…I think.” Docia nodded toward the dried blood pool. She’d have to get out here later and scrub the cement. No way she wanted to see that reminder every time she walked out the back door.
Brody walked over to the stain. “Might be. You’re sure this wasn’t here before?”
“I’m sure.” Docia pointed to the window. “That wasn’t here before either.”
Brody squinted in the bright afternoon sun. Docia noticed for the first time that he wasn’t wearing the same mirrored sunglasses his officers preferred. Maybe he didn’t need any extra authority symbols.
“You’re saying that window was shot out?”
“I don’t know.” Docia grimaced. “Maybe. Or maybe somebody was trying to break in and Nico surprised them.”
“More likely a wild shot.” Brody peered at the window. “Anybody get in through here? Anything missing?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. I’ll check this afternoon.”
“So.” Brody exhaled a quick breath, glancing at his notebook. “Somebody doing a little target practice in your backyard.” He glanced at the stone wall separating the yard from the alley. “Does that gate lock?”
“Yes, but I may not have locked it again yesterday after I took the garbage out to the alley.” Docia frowned. “Why would somebody do something like that?”
Brody shrugged. “Kids, probably. My guess is they got a twenty-two from somewhere, maybe somebody’s dad, then took it out to do a little shooting.”
Docia folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself. Weird to feel cold when the temperature was at least ninety. “Why my cat?”
“With kids, who knows? Could have been anything. Maybe they thought it was a squirrel.” He folded the notebook and slid it back into his pocket. “Or maybe they just wanted to shoot something.”
“Terrific.” Docia bit her lip again. “Poor Nico. Wrong place, wrong time.”
Brody nodded. “I’ll ask around. Kids might brag about it. I’ll see if anybody’s heard anything.”
“And you’ll let me know?”
“If I find anything.” He sighed. “Can’t have people shooting house pets. Bad for the town’s image.”
Docia’s eyebrows went up until she saw his smile. Who would have thought the chief had a sense of humor? “Thank you, Chief. I appreciate it.”
“Take care, Ms. Kent,” he rumbled. “Go look after your cat.”
Chapter Five
Cal decided to delay checking on Nico until the end of the day. If he got lucky, maybe he could take Docia for a drink at the Dew Drop.
Or not. He didn’t feel entirely confident about asking her out yet. She had a way of looking through him that made him slightly nervous. His former girlfriends had mostly been in the
good-times
category. No strings. No commitments. Nothing heavy. He had a feeling Docia Kent wouldn’t fit into that category herself. Maybe Wonder was right about her being out of his league.
Horace Rankin, the senior partner in the clinic, had a few choice things to say during lunch about having had to clean Señor Pepe’s teeth. “Margaret Hastings makes my fillings ache,” he grumbled. “And her goddamn dog looks like a wharf rat. From now on he’s your problem.”
Cal sighed, jabbing his fork into his microwaved dinner. “He’s the most miserable dog I ever saw, Horace. Swear to God. He makes me feel guilty every time I look at him.”
“Get over it.” Horace took a large bite of his braunschweiger sandwich. Cal always expected him to consume part of his drooping gray moustache along with his lunch, but somehow Horace managed to avoid it. “We don’t analyze ’em, we just fix ’em. You get a chance to look at those blueprints for the expansion?”
“You mean the new parking lot?” Cal tried squirting a little hot sauce onto his beans—maybe it would make them taste less like polystyrene. “Yeah. Looks okay to me. We’d have to buy the lot next door, though. Does Hobie think we can afford it?” Hobie was Horace’s business manager, the most cautious man Cal had ever met.
“Hell, son, what with the business I was already doing before you got here, plus all the new patients you’re bringing in, this expansion should pay for itself in no time.” Horace chortled.
Cal managed to grin back. Buying into Horace’s hospital had taken every cent he’d managed to save plus a sizeable loan from his parents—more debt on top of the college loans he was still paying off, the biggest financial gamble he’d ever taken. Still, so far it was paying off better than his job in Kansas City where he’d had to work extra shifts at the animal emergency clinic on the weekends. His brother Lars, the ninja accountant, had assured him he was making the right decision.
“Nice job on that cat of Docia Kent’s, by the way, imp of Satan though he is. Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen the x-rays.” Horace took a swallow of Big Red, which momentarily turned his moustache slightly pink.
“That happen around here a lot?” Cal picked up his glass of iced tea, frowning. “Pets getting shot?”
Horace shook his head. “Every once in a while some fool shoots a cow when he thinks it’s a whitetail, but I can’t remember another pet getting shot lately.”
Cal stared down at his rice and beans, remembering Docia Kent’s tear-filled eyes.
Who would shoot my cat?
“Any ideas about who might take a potshot at a cat?”
Horace burped braunschweiger. “This town has its share of morons, Toleffson, like any other place. And some of them are armed. Not a comforting thought during hunting season, I assure you. Why’d you send that cat home, anyway? Seems too soon to me.”
“He wasn’t eating. I figured she could look after him. I’ll check on him after we finish up here today.” Cal shrugged, avoiding Horace’s eyes.
Horace’s bushy eyebrows rose. Then his mouth spread in a wide grin, his moustache bristling with whole-wheat crumbs. “You going after Docia Kent, boy?”
“Maybe.” Cal walked across the room to tip the rest of the rice and beans into the trash. Frozen vegetarian entrees sucked. “And you don’t have to tell me she’s not into locals. I got that already.”
“Aw the hell with that,” Horace crowed. “Go for it, son! People around here are still trying to figure Docia Kent out. No man in Konigsburg has had the balls before this—they’ve all been sniffing around that gorgeous woman for a year or two now. I was about ready to make a play for her myself, just to keep it interesting. ’Course it may be bad for business around here.”
Cal frowned. “Why would my dating Docia Kent have anything to do with our veterinary business?”
“Oh c’mon, son.” Horace aimed his balled-up waxed paper at the corner wastebasket. He got it in one. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how many Konigsburg females have suddenly discovered poochie needs his nails polished.”
“So help me, Horace, I have never polished any dog’s nails.”
“Or cleaned a Chihuahua’s teeth. Doesn’t stop ’em coming in, does it?” Horace shook his head. “Go grab Docia Kent, son. Maybe it’ll send Margaret Hastings to that new vet over in Johnson City.”
Cal grinned. Lunch with Horace was always educational. Just another reason Cal had taken him up on his partnership offer three months ago.
Janie usually left at five, but today she stayed until five-fifteen to help with a last-minute clump of customers from a Harlingen tour bus. As she slung her backpack onto her shoulder and headed for the door, she wrinkled her nose at Docia. “Do you really think having a cat box behind the counter is a good marketing tool?”
Docia grimaced. “You think it’s a little ripe?”
“A little. Maybe you could move Nico back upstairs. He seems to be doing okay.”
Docia turned to look at Nico, half sprawled from the door of his carrier. Except for his swollen face and drooping lower lip, he looked almost normal. “Maybe.”
After the last customer had left the shop, Docia carried Nico’s food, water and catbox up the stairs, then went back for Nico.
Predictably, he wasn’t crazy about moving. He gave Docia a faint echo of his usual snarl and dug his claws into her shoulder. Compared to his normal reaction to being picked up, it was almost a love bite.
Docia plopped him down in his favorite spot in the bathroom, on the fuzzy purple bathmat, then descended the staircase from the apartment to the shop.
Dub Tyler stood next to her Texana display case.
Docia caught her breath, then managed to get her pulse rate under control again. “What do you want, Dub? We’re closed. Just about, anyway.”
“Just lookin’ at your collection. Not much that’s worth anything, though.” Dub’s pale blue eyes danced with mischief—his smile was faintly smug.
“I know it’s not as good as yours.” Docia managed to bite back her annoyance. “Can I help you with anything else before I lock up?”
“Still not interested in my offer? I might go as high as ten percent.” Dub’s smile retained that self-satisfied edge. He smoothed his hands across his plaid shirt.
Docia gritted her teeth. “No. Not until you explain what it’s all about.”
“Ah, well.” He shrugged. “No big thing. If you stay out, there’s more money in it for me.”
“That’s certainly one way of looking at it.” Docia walked behind him to the front door, resisting the urge to shove him through it.
Dub turned back in the doorway, his faded blue eyes suddenly sharp. “You just remember I offered, missy. Whatever happens.”
“Trust me, I’ll remember.” Docia watched him walk down the suddenly empty street, feeling a prickle that raised the hair on the back of her neck.
Oh, grow up. He’s just trying to scare you.
And maybe he’d succeeded—a little.
Cal was surprised to see lights in Kent’s Hill Country Books at six-thirty. Most of the shops in Konigsburg closed at five-thirty or six. Only the restaurants and bars stayed open in the evening.
Through the plate glass, he saw Docia bending over behind the counter. He rapped his knuckles on the window and watched her shoot straight up, staring.
“Sorry,” he said when she’d unlocked the door. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought I’d check on Nico on my way home.”
“Sure, thanks.” Docia pressed a hand to her chest, as if she were catching her breath. “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy all of a sudden.”
“I guess having somebody shoot your cat would do that to you.”
She turned off the lights as Cal followed her through the shop to a back storage room. A stripped pine kitchen table was pushed into the center on a threadbare rag rug, with a sink and a microwave on the far wall. A single window, high above the sink, had a hole in the corner with cracks radiating outward like a spider web.
“Somebody throw a rock through your window?” Cal asked.
Docia shook her head. “I think it was a bullet. Nico was outside in back when he got shot.”
Cal stared at the window. Something nagged at a corner of his mind, but he shook it off. “Where’s the patient?”
“Upstairs.” Docia climbed up the stairs ahead of him. Cal did his best not to watch her beautifully rounded behind bobbing in front of him. His best wasn’t good enough, however.
Nico didn’t seem particularly glad to see him, which Cal figured was related to the number of stitches the cat had in the roof of his mouth. Nico probably wasn’t too eager to see anyone just then, not that Cal blamed him.
“He’s doing okay.” Cal stood, brushing kitty litter off the knees of his jeans. “His eyes look good and he’s not feverish. Is he eating and drinking?”
Docia nodded, her gaze on Nico. “He was downstairs all day. I ground up a little canned food for him in the blender.”
“Good.” Cal took a deep breath, trying to decide how to approach this.
Could I buy you a drink? Could I buy you dinner? Could we just head for your bedroom and get started on the good part?