"I'll go get Dr. Messing." The girl hurried off.
The only chair not piled with documents or boxes was behind the vet's desk, so I stood and looked at the framed graduation certificate hanging crookedly on the wall—she'd gone to A&M—and took in the computer with its jungle-birds screen saver and the complete and utter disarray emphasized by scattered papers on the desk, granola bar wrappers everywhere and the wilting jumbo-size paper cup of some soft drink from a convenience store. It had completely dampened and smeared whatever document it sat on.
I smiled. Here was a woman after my own heart. But then I started when I felt something brush my leg. I looked down and saw what had to be the oldest, mangiest dog in the universe. He or she had one lower tooth that no longer fit in its mouth and was looking up at me expectantly with round cloudy eyes mostly obscured by floppy hair.
I knelt and the small gray dog's tail began to thump against the wastebasket. I held out my hand for sniffing and a warm pink tongue greeted me instead. Maybe the sniffer didn't work anymore.
"I see Buttons has introduced himself," a woman behind me said.
I stood and wiped my hand on my shorts before offering it out. "Abby Rose. I take it you're Dr. Messing?" She was thirtyish, black and makeup free, her long hair braided and beaded. I wondered if she was the woman who'd been cut out of the picture on the Web site.
We shook and then Messing said, "Let's make it 'Abby' and 'Roberta,' okay? Can I see Elizabeth tonight? She needs to know I'm with her, supporting her."
"Like I said on the phone, she's in a coma, so I don't think—"
"Never underestimate the unconscious mind, Abby. She'll know I'm there, coma or not."
"I think it would be wise to wait. I was only allowed in her room to see if I could identify her. The staff is pretty stingy about any time with visitors. They want to keep her calm."
"Okay, I get that. But why would you be able to identify her? Did you know Elizabeth?"
"It's kind of a long story. But I promise you, when she's able to have people in, I'll call you myself."
Roberta glanced at her watch. "I have to examine a litter of kittens someone abandoned at our back door and you can come with me." She looked down at Buttons. "You, too, baby. I know how you love kittens."
"Wait a sec, okay?" I said. "Let's make sure we're talking about the same person. The Web site photo wasn't the best." I pulled Richter's family picture from my purse and handed it to her. "Do you see your friend?"
She pointed immediately to JoLynn. "That's Elizabeth right there. My God, she—she looks so . . . scared and small."
For some reason I'd hoped she'd say that JoLynn wasn't her lost friend, that this was all a big mistake. On top of that, I felt immediate sympathy for Elliott Richter. The fact that JoLynn apparently had another name and a past she'd failed to share wouldn't be news he wanted to hear. "You're sure that's her?" I said.
Roberta took the photo and examined it more closely. "Of course I'm sure, but who are these other people?"
"The family she's been with," I said, thinking I didn't want to tell her much before I heard what she had to say. "I know you're busy and I'm hoping you can tell me everything you know about your friend so I can continue my investigation."
"Certainly, but those kittens can't wait. Come on." She passed the picture back to me, turned and left the room.
I took my cue from Buttons and followed. He was pretty spry for a snaggletoothed old dog. We didn't go far and I heard the kittens mewing before we even reached the treatment room. Buttons was on Roberta's heels, his wiggling nose in the air.
A heavyset woman who had the sense to wear plain green rather than animal-print scrubs was holding up one squalling kitten and rubbing its belly with a cloth.
"Someone had to pee really bad," said the woman. Then she put the tiny tabby to her nose and smiled. The cloth she now held in her free hand bore a telltale yellow stain.
"Good. That means they're probably not dehydrated yet," said Messing. "We'll take over here, Mary. I need a fecal on the dog in room five. Can you handle that?"
The woman nodded and left the room like she'd been asked to count the day's receipts and take half the money home. Note to self: No matter how much you love animals, your next job will not be at a vet clinic.
Roberta was already busy examining the kittens, Buttons resting at her feet, when she said, "Did Kent hire you to find Elizabeth? If he did, I might have to revisit my opinion of that bastard."
"I assume Kent is the jerk of a husband?" I said.
"Yes. Pretty-boy Kent Dugan, not even concerned enough to file a missing-person report when Elizabeth disappeared. And brother, did he get pissed off when I called the cops." She picked up the kitten squealing the loudest and rested a finger near the tiny calico's heart.
Diva was a calico like this little baby and immediately I wanted to take her home. I should have known this would happen once I walked into this place. "You said her husband got upset when you called HPD?" I asked, trying to stay focused.
"He said it was none of my business." The doc reached behind her to a cabinet and removed several small packaged syringes. "When the policeman called me, I figured Kent must have shown him his charming side because he convinced the cop she left on her own. When I checked with the police a week later, I was told an officer had gone out to the house and found no evidence of foul play, but that they'd keep Elizabeth's information on file."
"Sounds like you did what you could," I said.
"I suppose, but I'm certain something went very wrong to make her disappear without a word. That's why I put her picture up on that Web site. Excuse me a second." She took a phone from her lab jacket and used the intercom feature. "I need someone to feed kittens in treatment one." Then Messing closed the phone and looked at me. "I really want to see Elizabeth for myself. I don't care if—"
"As I said, she's heavily sedated and—"
"Where is she?"
"In the neuro ICU at Ben Taub," I said.
"Thank you. I'll be there tonight and I don't give a damn what they say about visitors." Messing continued examining the other kittens.
"The best way to help her is by talking to me. I need to know how long you knew her, where she came from, things like that."
A teenage boy charged into the room holding a measuring cup filled with creamy liquid. He was a taller, masculine version of the dark-haired Dr. Messing. She was too young to have a son this age. Brother, maybe?
"You heated that to ninety degrees, right?" she asked, nodding at the measuring cup.
"Yes," he answered.
"Cute litter, huh?" she said to him.
The doc held up another blind kitten and he grinned, revealing a mouthful of braces. Then he stroked the tiny head with one long, thin finger. Roberta put the animal back in the box and instructed the teenager to feed— but not overfeed—the litter using the needle-free syringes she provided. He carefully left with the box of kittens and the milk.
Messing looked at her watch. "You were asking how I knew her. I owned a condo next door to theirs. Elizabeth and I met when we were both getting our mail one day, about a year before she disappeared. I was drawn to her at once. She reminded me of those kittens, of the hundreds of kittens and puppies people abandon at our clinic door. She looked like she needed to be rescued."
"She was sad? Scared? Worried?"
"All of the above. I invited her into my home and
from then on we had coffee together on my days off. She was the sweetest thing. Polite, quiet, always asking about the animals."
"Did she ever say anything about extended family or other friends?"
"She said her parents were dead, but that's the most I ever got out of her. She never went into detail about her past—avoided answering me when I asked. The only clue I ever got was when she said she'd had a difficult childhood and Kent promised to fix all that and take care of her."