Diane hesitated and then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. There’s no swelling, unusual redness around the eyes, ears, or skin, and no blistering in the mouth. I believe he’s ingested some kind of sedative. Let me run a few tests to make sure.” She turned away from her patient for a moment and touched Olivia’s shoulder. “Trust me. He’s going to be fine.”
Olivia couldn’t see through the tears. “He’s got to be,” she whispered. “The Captain is ... half of my whole being.”
The vet didn’t respond. She’d already turned her attention back to the poodle. She didn’t waste time asking Olivia to wait outside either, knowing full well she’d refuse.
Exhausted, Olivia perched on the edge of the room’s only chair, watching every brisk and efficient move Diane made, but allowing the professional to work in silence. At some point, though she did not remember doing so, Olivia shut her eyes, leaned her head back against the wall, and fell into a light sleep.
Diane woke her with a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “Haviland is stable. I ran a blood test and found that he did ingest sedatives. Too much for his body weight, but not enough to be fatal. He needs to rest for several hours, but he should make a full recovery and be his charming self in a day or so.”
Olivia pressed her hands over her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured, too weary to infuse her words with the gratitude she felt.
“You should go home and get some rest too,” Diane suggested kindly. “I’ll call you as soon as he’s awake.”
“No. I won’t leave him.”
Diane smiled. “I thought you’d say that.” She pointed at a door in the back of the room. “My office is through there. I’ve put a clean blanket and pillow on the sofa for you. You might as well sleep if you can. That’s all Haviland will be doing.”
Nodding, Olivia walked over to Haviland and stroked the fur behind his right ear. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead and then simply stood there, watching the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. When she finally sank down on the plaid couch in Diane’s office, something crinkled in her back pocket. She pulled out the small square of red paper.
“You have hurt the wrong dog, you bastard,” she hissed. “I’m going to devote every resource, every thought, and every moment of my waking hours hunting you down.”
She stared at the note until the typed words blurred into black, beetlelike smudges and the bright red of the paper became the color of vengeance.
Olivia waited until six the next morning to call Rawlings. She’d slept a few fitful hours on Diane’s couch, but it had been enough to allow her to spend the rest of the day in action. She planned to scour the area surrounding the cottage as soon as the light allowed for a detailed search and she wanted the chief and his men on the job too.
Rawlings listened to Olivia recall the events of the previous night and promised to be waiting in her driveway by the time she got home.
“I don’t want you going inside until I check it out,” he ordered.
Olivia complied, asked Diane’s assistant to call the moment Haviland woke up, and drove to Bagels ‘n’ Beans. She requested a coffee and a sesame seed bagel with butter for herself and then placed an order for coffee, pastries, and a lunch tray of assorted sandwiches to be sent to Diane’s office and to the Canine Cottage, the grooming business she owned as well.
“Give them the works,” Olivia told Wheeler, handing him her Visa card. “Chips, cookies, sun tea, all of it. As a matter of fact, I’d like you to do this for them once a week for the rest of the month.”
Wheeler scrutinized his customer’s bloodshot eyes and drawn face and then scanned the length of the store in search of Haviland. “He’s all right then?”
“He will be,” Olivia replied, relieved Wheeler hadn’t asked what had happened. She didn’t want anyone to know that she and Haviland had become victims over the course of the night. She didn’t want the town gossips spreading the tale about town, inviting the interest of the journalists present. Besides, playing the victim was a role she refused to accept.
Rawlings and two of his officers were walking the perimeter of her house when she pulled into the driveway. Olivia handed him the plastic baggie containing the note.
“My fingerprints will be on there,” she said as he drew near. “I don’t think you have mine on file, so I’ll come in and be printed as soon as we’re done here.”
Accepting the bag, Rawlings read the warning and his eyes narrowed. “Why does he feel threatened by you?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Yesterday, I paid brief visits to the other members of the Planning Board, asking them to reject the Cottage Cove proposal until it can be altered to include more green space and the preservation of the Neuse River Park’s cemetery.” Olivia unlocked her front door and stepped aside.
She watched Rawlings draw his gun, his eyes sweeping the kitchen. Without responding to what she’d said, he waved one of his men toward the living room. The third opened the coat closet and peered inside.
Olivia noticed that Rawlings had chosen seasoned men to accompany him and was satisfied to find him taking the incident so seriously.
“Clear!” he called from the living room and disappeared upstairs.
Impatient to get down to the cottage, Olivia occupied herself by prepping the coffee machine to brew to its full capacity.
When the chief returned, his gun was holstered. “There’s no sign of an intruder and it doesn’t look as though anything’s been touched. Considering how tidy you are, Ms. Limoges, I’d think it would be obvious if someone had gone through your things. Would you care to check?”
Olivia shook her head. “No. It doesn’t feel like anyone’s been in the house. I believe I would know. Now let me show you where I found Haviland.”
The sand and grass-covered area in the lee of the cottage offered no clues except for the faintest boot print. Even that was a disappointment, being a shallow indentation no bigger that a two-inch square. The ridges were similar to the boots worn by both officers, and though the chief squatted down and studied the mark carefully, Olivia wasn’t hopeful that an arrest would be made based on a few lines in the sand. Half the men in Oyster Bay probably owned work boots that made similar imprints.
“There’s no indication of where he put the ground beef,” Rawlings commented, looking at Olivia. “Were you surprised to learn Haviland ate food given to him by a stranger?”
“First of all, there’s no way that bastard got close to him until whatever drugs he fed Haviland took effect,” Olivia protested. “He must have left out the meat nearby. If it smelled fresh and Haviland was hungry, which he was, he’d have eaten it. Despite the fact that his intelligence exceeds that of a great deal of Oyster Bay’s residents, Haviland is a dog.”
“He might have put the meat out closer to the water, sir,” one of the officers suggested. “The tide would have washed away all traces of the beef before Ms. Limoges ever found the dog. Even if our guy fed him right here, the flies, ants, and gulls would have cleaned up the scraps hours ago.”
Rawlings turned his face toward the sea. “Tonight’s meeting is important to him. I think he’s going to be there, as risky as that might be. He needs to see this thing come off without a hitch.”
Olivia followed his gaze. “He could have killed me, Chief. I was a sitting duck out here. I think he’s had a plan from the beginning. He knows his victims. I bet he’s had four poems written, four faces in his mind, and a single goal all along. I didn’t fit in his plan so he didn’t hurt me, but he doesn’t want me to spoil his vision either. That’s why he gave me a warning I couldn’t ignore. I just don’t understand why he took Haviland’s collar.”