Muzzled (11 page)

“Hang on!” I growled. “Where are you ringing from? Where in Port Augusta are you?”

His voice was barely a whisper. “Ring you later.”

“Nooo!” I yelled. “I haven’t heard from my little sister in over a year and you ring to tell me she’s disappeared and then want to hang up on me. Do that, buster, and I’ll put a deadly curse on you. You’ll have warts growing out of your eyeballs and your toes will grow fungus and drop off.”

Evidently he wasn’t afraid of curses because all I could hear was the dial tone.

11

“Geez, Jake, shift up a gear, will ya?” I yelled, frustrated at the slow meanderings of my plodding dreadlocked assistant. “You run like a flippin’ girl!”

It was the following morning, the sun was hanging low in the sky, and Jake and I were hand-slipping greyhounds—a training exercise that seemed to sustain my dogs’ fitness for the race track. After barely three hours sleep, I was tired and irritable. Make that tired, irritable and jumpy. Maybe I could remove a couple of padlocks from Lofty’s kennel and relax my vigilance on the two GAP dogs, even return Stella to her kennel by the gate and allow Stanley to join her after I’d picked him up from the vet—and maybe not.

Also, I couldn’t get Liz’s disappearance out of my mind.

Unanswered questions from the previous night buzzed in my brain. What was my sister’s bracelet doing in Jack Lantana’s house? If she’d simply moved on to greener pastures, why not take her backpack with her? Nausea swirled in the pit of my stomach as I acknowledged there might be something more sinister about Liz’s disappearance than mere itchy feet.

Of course this meant I had to drive to Port Augusta and investigate. Not that there was any guarantee Liz was still there, but it was the last place she’d been seen. Scott implied something shady was going on at the greyhound track, so that’s where I’d start nosing around and asking questions. Plus, even though Liz didn’t think I was important enough to let me know we were now living in the same state, I guess it was up to me to set a bonfire under the Port Augusta police. So far, they didn’t seem like they were too fussed by her disappearance.

And as for ringing Ma to discuss Liz’s disappearance—I decided to put that unpleasant task off until I had more information.

Zorro, the dog clamped between my legs, let out a sharp bark and bounded forward, almost unseating me. I shook my head, tried to concentrate on straddling one bucking greyhound while attempting to calm the three barking, leaping, eager-to-get-going canines hooked to the chain wire fence beside me.

All eyes were on the runner. Jake.

I grit my teeth to stop from swearing. The manner in which my easy-going, dreadlocked, dude assistant was sauntering up the straight track which ran along the boundary of my property, I expected a snail to slither past him at any moment. And when he stopped and bent to pick something up from the ground—probably a half-squashed bug he thought needed saving—I let out a sigh. The dogs tied to the fence all wanted to gallop but I couldn’t let them off until Jake reached the other end of my 300 meter slipping track. And at the rate he was traveling—we’d still be slipping dogs come dinner time.

Finally, Jake turned and even from a distance of a hundred yards I could see his crazy extra-wide grin. “Hey, man!” he shouted and held his ‘find’ in the air, waving it like a prized Olympic medal. “I just found a four leafed clover with, like, one leaf torn off!”

“Good for you,” I yelled back clamping my knees more firmly around the torso of Zorro, the over-excited black youngster I struggled to hold. “Now, if you can tear yourself away from all that greenery, can you
please
get back to work? Otherwise, it’ll be night time before we finish.”

“Man, it’s my lucky day.” Jake tucked his four-leaf clover—minus one leaf—in the pocket of his T-shirt which proclaimed, ‘Zero Tolerance to Chemicals in Food’, and with leather dog leads flapping around his neck and shoulders, sprinted to the top of the track.

“Okay, Zorro, off you go.” I unfastened the dog’s collar and threw the lead on the ground behind me to free both hands. The black dog powered up the straight, every muscle straining and stretching to its limit. Boy could that youngster gallop. Couldn’t wait for him to start racing. When Jake caught Zorro and tied him to the fence I unhooked dog number two, Molly—a racing dog coming back from a spell—and repeated the process.

Suzie, Zorro’s hyperactive, white and black litter sister, screamed like she’d been ripped in half by a shark. My mobile rang. I let it go to message bank because Suzie had jumped so high in the air she’d come down with the lead wrapped around one leg. I unhooked her from the fence, told her she was as nutty as a Snickers bar, then let her go and grinned as she yipped and yapped the entire way up the straight. Suzie always reminded me of a dizzy blonde on speed.

Noting Suzie’s safe arrival at the other end of the track, I left Jake to cool the dogs down and return them to their kennels. If I didn’t collect Stanley from the vet soon, Dr. Terry Chapman, although a champion of GAP greyhounds, would be billing me for the dog’s board and lodgings.

An hour later, I pulled up outside the local veterinary clinic and drove into the car park. Due to Purple Pants’ demise my dogs were now relatively safe and Stanley, his little neutering operation completed, was all set to go to a loving adoptive home. Smiling, I pushed through the waiting room door and greeted Val, the receptionist, as she scurried in from the back entrance, long blonde hair a curtain across her face.

“What’s up?” I asked and shook my head in mock horror. “Don’t tell me that boss of yours got his arm stuck up another cow’s rear end and you had the fun job of pulling it out?”

Val rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “That was last week’s party trick.” She squatted to store clean towels in a bottom cupboard then straightened, shoved her hair from her eyes with one hand and stretched the kinks from her back. “Is it time to go home yet?”

I laughed. Val, the vet’s normally cool, not a hair out of place receptionist, was really in a tizzy.

She let out an exasperated breath. “It’s been one of those mornings,” she confided through gritted teeth. “You know, vacuum cleaner on the blink, pushy salesman running off at the mouth until I wanted to shove a packet of dog biscuits down his throat to shut him up, two emergencies, plus a pile of dirty towels and an uncooperative washing machine.” She took a deep replenishing breath and dragged the appointment book across the counter toward her. “Umm…let’s see. At the moment Terry’s with an obese French poodle. Shouldn’t be long.”

“No need to bother him, Val. I’m only here to pick up Stanley, one of the GAP dogs.”

“Sorry, direct orders. Boss said to make sure I let him know as soon as you came in. He tried to ring you a couple of times this morning but you didn’t pick up.”

I thought of the calls I’d let go to message bank and hadn’t got around to checking. My cheerful smile melted like chocolate in the sun as I contemplated the fact that greyhounds were extremely vulnerable to anesthetic. Oh God, no. Something must have gone wrong with Stanley’s operation.

“It’s Stanley, isn’t it?” My voice caught in my throat as I leaned across the counter, inches from grabbing the front of Val’s sky blue button up uniform and demanding more information. “What happened to Stanley?”

“Jesus, Kat, no need to have a coronary. Last time I checked on Stanley he was bored witless but otherwise fine. Tried seducing me with one of his hopeful,
I’m starving
faces but when I refused to go buy him a chocolate ice cream cone he went back to chewing on the wire. That dog is definitely good-to-go.”

My heart, flopping like a hooked fish, went back to merely twitching before settling reluctantly back in its place. Much more stress and the poor thing would be off looking for another chest cavity to call home. I shook my head. “Well, if Stanley’s okay…what’s the problem?”

“Not sure.” Val shrugged one shoulder as she brought up an account on her computer. “Terry discovered something while examining Stanley prior to his op. But don’t worry, he’ll explain everything to you as soon as he finishes his consultation with Mrs. Cruskit and her chocoholic French poodle.”

“Explain what?” Dr. Terry Chapman, preceded by a fluffy, big haired woman that proved the theory people
do
look like their dogs, exited the nearest door and tossed a big bone-melting smile in my direction. “Ah there you are, Kat,” he bellowed. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

Before I could start pumping Terry for information he turned to his departing client, her overwhelming cloud of Passion perfume causing both Val and me to surreptitiously hold our breath. Face grave, he shook one finger at the woman. “Now, remember what I told you, Mrs. Cruskit.
Lady Lala
and chocolate frogs do not agree. The ingredients in chocolate can be very dangerous for dogs.”

“Oh, my poor, poor baby,” Mrs. Cruskit simpered. “The big bad doctor said I can’t give you any more chokky. Come on, darling, Mummy will carry you to the car.” Bending, she picked up her wheezing poodle and made for the door, scraps of dog spilling from her soft fleshy arms.

The vet shook his head at the woman’s departing back. “I mean it, Mrs. Cruskit—if you don’t put Lala on the diet I recommended and walk her twice a day, you could lose her.”

With one hand holding the door open, he beckoned me into his surgery.

“You okay?” he asked, concern crinkling his forehead as I brushed past him and entered the room.

“Never felt better.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” One eyebrow hitched skyward, he peered down his nose at me. “Come on, Kat, I know about you and Tanya finding that man’s body in a refrigerator. It’s all over Facebook.”

I closed my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. So much for keeping my recent crappy life a secret. Oh for the good old days—the days before social networking made everyone’s life an open book. “Did you also hear that we spent time in a holding cell rubbing shoulders with prostitutes, men in drag, and drug pushers?”

Terry shook his head. “No, but what I don’t understand is what you and Tanya were doing inside the dead man’s house at all?”

“I told you yesterday I was going to question the guy about why he was after my dogs.” I paused but when Terry’s lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, I quickly went on. “And when we got there his demonic guard dogs chased us into the house. It was a total nightmare.”

“Which is why you need to be more careful.” Terry sighed, indicated a chair for me and perched his butt on the desk. “Now, I don’t know if this has anything to do with the case, but did you know Stanley’s ear brands have been tampered with?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Can’t say I bothered to look.”

“Before I began the operation, I checked the dog’s ear brands and noticed the last number in his left ear had been changed.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“Well… I have a theory. Maybe—”

“Sorry to interrupt, Terry, but an emergency has just come in.” It was Val, popping her head around the doorway. “Mrs. Davies cat got squashed when it bumped into a farm vehicle and several bags of wheat fell on top of it. The cat was chasing a bird, ripped off the bird’s legs and Mrs. Davies has brought both the squashed cat and the legless bird in.” She screwed up her nose. “Neither patient looks good.”

Terry scrambled to his feet and preceded me to the door. “Bring them straight in, Mrs. Davies and I’ll see if I can save them.” He turned to Val. “I’ll need your help with this—but first, can you please get Stanley for Kat?”

“No, no, don’t bother.” I insisted. “You need Val here. I can get Stanley.”

“Okay, you’ll find him in the last cage on the left.” Terry stopped, placed one hand on my arm and gave a reassuring squeeze. “You know, I honestly think now Jack Lantana’s out of the picture, Stanley will be safe.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“But whatever happens, young lady, I want you to promise you’ll be careful.”

“I’ll try.”

Leaving Terry to care for the two emergency patients, I fossicked in my tote for Stanley’s collar and lead then strolled across to the door on the other side of the waiting room.

The door was painted a flat white with the words Animal Hospital etched in black letters across the top. I’d been visiting the clinic the morning Val chose the two cartoon stickers pasted each side of the lettering—a cute but scruffy Thelwell dog and a twinkly-eyed Cat in the Hat.

Stanley would be so pleased to see me.

Smiling, I turned the brass handle and entered the large cool room. Immediately a lemony disinfectant smell snipped at my nose and the piercing yap of a pocket-sized Chihuahua assailed my ears. Cages, deep in shredded paper lined the four walls. A fluffy black and white rabbit with a twitching nose and one leg in plaster regarded me with curious black eyes from the first cage. On the indigo colored wall straight ahead squatted a large painting of a scene from Gawler’s main street in the 1900s—men wearing dark three piece suits and hats—women in long, God-knows-how-they-kept-them-clean dresses—and horse-drawn carriages parading sedately along the dirt road.

Time to rescue my ever-hungry GAP dog; buy him a double decker ice cream and maybe a cheese-burger before taking him home to the ‘welcoming committee’.

“Okay, Stanley,” I joked. “I’m here to bust you outta the pen.”