19
I was so hungry the palm fronds hanging over the street were beginning to look tasty, but I pulled into Dr. Phyllis Layton’s parking lot and hurried inside. I wasn’t sure I’d been right when I told Pete there was nothing more he could do to make Mazie happy. If anybody knew better, it would be Dr. Layton.
I charged up to the receptionist’s desk so fast that my Keds probably made skid marks when I stopped.
I said, “I don’t have an appointment, but if Dr. Layton has a minute, I need to ask her advice about a dog I’m taking care of. She’s the dog’s vet. The dog is Mazie, belongs to Hal and Gillis Richards.”
Behind the receptionist, Dr. Layton’s head popped around a corner, with a look in her eyes that said she was a damn busy woman and didn’t have time for pop-in visits from pet sitters, but that she knew me well enough to know I must have good reason to be interrupting her schedule. Waggling her fingers at me, she came around to open the door into her inner sanctum.
A comfortably plump African-American woman roughly my age, Dr. Layton has the ability to soothe and command at the same time. I felt more confident the moment we stepped into a treatment room.
She leaned against a metal table and said, “There’s a problem with Mazie?”
“She’s terribly depressed, has been ever since Jeffrey left to have surgery.”
She looked surprised. “I thought that was scheduled for next month.”
“It was, but there was a cancellation or something and the hospital got him in a month early, and the surgery was Monday morning. He’s out of ICU and in a room, which I hope means the surgery was a success, but Mazie is distraught. She’s not eating or drinking much, she’s panting and sighing a lot, and she runs around the house all day looking for Jeffrey. I have a full-time sitter with her, a sweet man—he’s reading to her and playing the saxophone for her—but she’s more agitated every day.”
Dr. Layton smiled. “He’s playing the saxophone for her? That’s nice.” More somberly, she said, “A pet’s grief can be so intense it can cause them to become ill.”
“Jeffrey will be home in a week or so.”
“But Mazie doesn’t know that. Besides, the future doesn’t exist for a pet. All they know is right now, and right now Jeffrey is gone.”
Briskly, she went to a wall cabinet and moved some small dark bottles around.
“If this were a permanent separation, I might give her something stronger, like Prozac. But I don’t like to medicate an animal unless it’s absolutely necessary.” She chose a bottle and handed it to me. “This is an herbal supplement that might help calm her. Put ten drops in her water bowl every time you give her fresh water. If that doesn’t help, call me and we’ll try something stronger.”
I thanked her and slipped the bottle in my pocket. Guiltily, I wished I had talked to Dr. Layton sooner. I was letting other things distract me and make me less focused on my work than I should have been, and I didn’t like that about myself.
Since it was on my way, I made a fast stop at the Kitty Haven to check on Leo.
Marge Preston took me back to Leo’s private suite, a cubicle furnished with a litter box, climbing tower, and a small TV set that played kitty fantasies all day. It was actually a jail cell, and Leo knew it, but it was a posh jail cell with the best food and tenderest jailers any incarcerated cat could ever hope for.
He looked healthy and well fed, but pissed. I didn’t blame him. Through no fault of his own, he’d been whisked away from a spacious house and a loving human to this small world with strangers taking care of him. He didn’t know me any better than he knew Marge and her assistants, but I spent a few minutes with him anyway. I told him that Laura’s sister was coming, and that she would soon take him to a new home. I told him that his world was going to get better in time, and that he would one day be as happy as he had been with Laura.
Marge heard me. As I was leaving, she said, “I hope you were telling Leo the truth.”
“I hope so too.”
Marge never quizzes me about the cats I bring her, she never pries into their home lives. This time, though, I’d brought her a cat with dried blood on his paws, and she would surely have guessed that the “death in the family” I’d mentioned had been the murder all over the papers and news shows.
She said, “I’m giving Leo vitamin C supplements for stress.”
“That’s good, Marge. I’ll let you know when his family arrives.”
The cats in Marge’s front room gave me looks of sweet disdain as I left. They probably considered me underprivileged because I wasn’t lucky enough to live full-time at the Kitty Haven.
I was now beyond famished, but my rule for myself is that I don’t eat breakfast until I’ve finished every pet call. I still had to take Mazie for a run, and I particularly wanted to give her the drops from Dr. Layton.
At Fish Hawk Lagoon, the crime-scene people were still at Laura’s house, and Guidry’s Blazer was among the cars at the curb. I parked in Mazie’s driveway and rapped on the door before I opened it and went in.
Pete sat on the sofa with his saxophone in his lap as if he’d just finished playing it. Mazie lay on the floor in front of him.
With an edge to my voice, I said, “Pete, it’s not a good idea to leave the door unlocked.”
He shot me an annoyed look. “I never lock doors.”
“There’s a killer loose, maybe you should.”
We stared at each other for a beat, each of us defensive and tense. Mazie got up from her spot and made a soft whining noise. Her distress at our snippy voices made me feel like an idiot.
I said, “I’m sorry, Pete. I’ve let it all get to me.”
“I guess I have too. But it can’t go on, Dixie. It just can’t go on much longer.”
He looked close to tears, and I knew he wasn’t concerned about a killer. He was distressed because it had been necessary for Jeffrey to undergo major surgery. He was distressed because Mazie was so sad. He was distressed because he was a man accustomed to making people laugh and feel better, and he felt helpless.
I said, “I stopped at Mazie’s vet this morning and talked to her about Mazie. She said it’s normal for Mazie to be grieving, because she thinks Jeffrey has gone away forever.”
I pulled the bottle from my pocket and headed for the kitchen.
“She gave me these drops to put in her water bowl. I’ll put some in now, and next time you give her fresh water, put ten drops in. Dr.
Layton says that will help calm her. If it doesn’t, she’ll give her something stronger.”
Pete followed me, skepticism and uneasiness making his eyebrows shimmy. “The doctor sent drugs?”
“No, it’s something herbal. From flowers, I think. She knows Mazie. She wouldn’t give her anything that wasn’t safe.”
I rummaged around in a junk drawer, found a marking pen, and wrote 10 drops on the bottle.
“I’ve marked the number of drops. Just put them in every time you give her fresh water.”
“She’s not drinking much water.”
“I know, but let’s give it a try.”
With Pete suspiciously examining the label on the bottle, I got Mazie’s leash and led her outside. We both needed to run off our tension, so as soon as she was willing, I took off at a fast clip. As we ran, I kept glancing right and left, peering into the thick foliage beside the sidewalk and then across the street at the hibiscus hedge that hid the jogging path. Laura’s killer could be hidden nearby, watching all the crime-scene activity and feeling proud of himself for causing it.
We ran hard for about five minutes, then stopped to pant awhile before we started back at a more leisurely pace. Mazie seemed less tense, but her forehead was still furrowed in doggy concern.
As we approached her driveway, I saw Guidry and Pete standing next to my Bronco. Pete looked defensive, and Guidry was pulling his notebook from his pocket as if ready to take notes.