“That’s how his ear got torn?”
“Seems that way. It’s just nicked a little, you know, not torn.”
“Did he lose the fight?”
Mike smiled. “I haven’t seen the other guy, but I’d guess that yes, he lost. His nictitating membrane is up, as you noticed.”
“His what?”
“His third eyelid. It’s a sign of stress, or maybe infection.”
“It looks horrible.”
“It’s not necessarily always a sign of sickness. Cats sometimes show it when they’re relaxed and content. Lots of animals have them, mammals and birds.”
“They do?”
Mike nodded, stroking Quincy absently. “Humans are one of the few mammals who don’t. But its appearance along with the other symptoms is not a good sign. He’s also dehydrated, so I should put him on IVs for at least a few hours. I’ll include some antibiotics.”
Chase cringed. Quincy with tubes in his little legs? Yuck. “Okay. You can do that tonight?”
“I should.” Mike paused to think, a hand on his chin. “But I’ll have to take him in to my clinic. You could take him to the twenty-four-hour hospital, but maybe we can do it this way instead. I have the tubing and meds at the practice, so I’ll take him there to get him started, then we can bring him back here for the rest of the night. He might perk up by morning.”
Chase breathed out a sigh of pent-up worry. Someone was going to take care of him. “He’ll be all right?”
“Oh sure. This is a minor setback, especially if we treat him right away.”
She felt her knees grow weak and her ears start ringing. The room grew dim.
She felt a breeze on her face. Opening her eyes, she found herself lying on Mike’s couch. He was standing over her, fanning her.
“I’m not licensed to treat people, Chase.”
“What happened?”
“You fainted.” He gave her an odd smile. “You also mumbled something about ‘the redhead.’”
“I did?”
Mike nodded.
Chase couldn’t look at him. What had she said? She must have babbled in her coma, or her faint, or whatever. It wasn’t sleep.
“Were you referring to Jasmine?”
Jasmine? “I don’t know if I was or not. Who is she?”
“She’s the widow of my best friend from college. He died two months ago and she’s having a hard time.”
“Is she the dog owner who let her dog eat a chicken?”
“She didn’t let him eat it.”
He sounded testy. She should drop the subject. Then she remembered where she was and what was happening.
“Quincy!” She sat up. “How long was I out? We have to get Quincy to your place.”
“Yes, we do. You were only out for a couple of minutes. Do you want to stay here?”
Mike frowned and cupped his chin in his fist. “On second thought, maybe I should run in and get the equipment, bring it back, and do the operation here.”
“Operation?”
“Sorry, wrong word. Procedure. Get him started on fluids and antibiotics. It’ll be easy since he’s a shorthair.”
“Sounds good.” She sank back into the couch.
Visions of dogs on IVs and redheads with spiky hair danced in her head as she lay with Quincy tucked in beside her, still wrapped in the beach towel.
So Jasmine was the widow of his college friend. It didn’t mean she wasn’t something more.
THIRTY-SIX
Wednesday morning she had to open the shop. Technically, she didn’t have to, because Anna would have done it for her, but she felt the need to do something. She hadn’t accomplished anything for the last two days, except worry about Quincy. The shop would at least give her something else to occupy her mind.
She put him on soft towels in his crate and set it in the corner of the kitchen where she could keep an eye on him. Mike had sedated him so that the IV would stay in place until he was fully hydrated and until he had had enough antibiotics. The vet had promised to come by at noon to check on him.
What a relief if was, not having to put him into the emergency vet hospital! Not to mention how nice it was not to have to pay the extra expense of boarding him there. There were definite advantages to dating a vet when you owned a cat, as Anna, The All Wise, had noted.
Chase hoped a health inspector wouldn’t come by today when they had a furry animal in the kitchen. That would not be good. But she couldn’t leave him in the office. She just couldn’t. She turned her eyes aside and pretended not to notice when Anna slipped a bit of crumbled topping into his crate. Quincy gave it a lethargic sniff and a halfhearted lick, but he was too dopey to actually eat it.
The shop was bustling and kept both women busy. At about ten o’clock, Chase ran to answer the phone in the office. It was Laci Carlson.
“How are you? Are you feeling any better?”
“Yes, much.” She sounded bright and chipper. “The doctor told me yesterday that I could go back to work! Isn’t that wonderful?”
She had picked the right day. Vi was slammed, almost overwhelmed, in the front. “Yes, it is. Can you come in today?”
“I’m all dressed. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
She made it in five.
Vi frowned at Laci. “You again?” was her greeting.
“Vi,” Chase said, pulling her aside and huddling near the swinging doors with both of them. “You will work with Laci. Laci, you will work with Violet. We need both of you. I don’t need you quarreling. One of you work behind the counter and the other cover the floor. Stay away from each other. I don’t want to hear any bickering.”
“I’ll take the floor.” Vi flounced away and Laci took her position at the cash register, looking relieved to not have to be near Vi.
Chase felt like a junior high school principal, lecturing these two grown women. Well, barely grown, but out of high school anyway, and old enough to act responsibly on the job. How could she have forgotten how awful it was to have them working together? Chase would have to do something. She and Anna couldn’t keep employing both of them. She realized Anna was right about that. They could work separate days, but there were times when two people were needed in front. She shoved that worry down below her concern for Quincy, and for herself.
When she reentered the kitchen, Anna was standing in the middle of the room, fuming.
“I really need to find my blue marble rolling pin.”
The office phone trilled again and Chase went to get it. This time it was Detective Olson.
“I may need your help,” he said, not sounding as unfriendly as he sometimes did. “The last time we spoke, you mentioned, very briefly, that you saw something blue by Ms. Bjorn’s head.”
“Yes, I remember. There was a button and . . . something blue.” And suddenly, she got a clear mental picture of it. Something blue. Blue marble.
“Do you recall what it was?”
She stiffened and hesitated a split second before she told the lie. “No, I didn’t get that good a look at it. Just something . . . blue.” She knew he wanted her to tell him she had recognized it, Anna’s favorite rolling pin. He couldn’t know that it was from the Bar None, though. Could he?
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she told him and hung up.
Slowly, she trudged into the kitchen. Anna still stood with her hands on her hips, fuming.
“Anna, I saw something next to Hilda Bjorn after she was attacked. It was blue.”
“Blue? How big was it?”
“About eight inches long. It looked very much like your missing rolling pin.”
Anna’s mouth dropped open. “No, that can’t be right.” She shook her head. “How would it get there?”
“I have no idea. But if it is yours, if it came from our kitchen . . .” A cold weight settled into Chase’s stomach. “If it’s from our kitchen, they’ll think I did it.”
Anna’s mouth stayed open. “No. No, you did not do that. I know you wouldn’t bash in an old woman’s head.”