Last But Not Leashed

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Books. Change. Lives.

Copyright © 2022 by Eileen Brady

Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks

Cover art by Brandon Doorman/Lott Reps

Sourcebooks, Poisoned Pen Press, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

Published by Poisoned Pen Press, an imprint of Sourcebooks

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

sourcebooks.com

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Excerpt from Saddled With Murder

Prologue

Chapter One

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Back Cover

To my daughters, Amanda and Britt, who have brought love, joy, tears, and a welcome complexity into my life.

A well-trained dog will make no attempt to share your lunch. He will just make you feel guilty so that you can’t enjoy it.

—Helen Thompson

Even the tiniest poodle or Chihuahua is still a wolf at heart.

—Dorothy Hinshaw

One cat just leads to another.

—Ernest Hemingway

Chapter One

Keanu. Stop kissing me.

Despite my pleas, Keanu drew closer, his soulful, dark eyes begging for more.

You’re being a bad, bad boy.

The friendly Labrador retriever mix, named after the famous actor, made a valiant effort to obey. I’d almost finished his final bandage change. The outside layer was lime-green vet wrap, and in about a minute I’d be done if my handsome patient would stop wiggling around. Keanu had cut his paw from catapulting himself in the air after a Frisbee; on descent, the athletic dog landed on a sharp wire fence but kept the disc firmly in his mouth.

Thanks to quick action by my staff at the Oak Falls Animal Hospital, the cut pad had healed nicely, but keeping a foot bandage dry in two feet of snow in New York’s Hudson Valley presented a challenge.

Okay, good-looking. We’re done. With that, the dog stood up on the stainless steel table and looked around the treatment room. A bank of cages lined the far wall, punctuated by IV stands and infusion pumps. Most of our Christmas decorations were gone, but someone had left a card depicting Santa Claus as a water buffalo taped to the wall. Above the oxygen cage, perched on the highest point, sat our hospital cat, Mr. Katt, looking down in supreme feline disdain. A stealthy ninja, he sometimes jumped on our shoulders from on high with no warning.

My veterinary tech, Mari, waterproofed our work with some plastic wrap while I kept our star distracted.

Ready? I asked her.

Ready, Doc, she replied.

The two of us lifted Keanu in our arms and gently placed him on the treatment room floor. We both received more doggie kisses for our work.

His thick tail kept whacking me in the knees as I walked him back to reception. As soon as he saw his family, the wags reached a crescendo. That tail felt like someone playing a drum solo on my legs.

The happy family reunion in our reception area quickly turned into chaos. Keanu jumped up on everyone, acting as though he hadn’t seen them in years, instead of a mere twenty minutes. Trying to be heard above the ten-year-old twin boys’ enthusiastic chatter, I reminded the adults to take the plastic covering off as soon as they got home, and to keep this new bandage clean and dry. Since dogs love to lick, Keanu had several types of anti-licking collars at home to wear, from stiff plastic to sturdy fabric.

And no Frisbee playing until he’s completely healed, I yelled as they walked out the door. Promise? At every bandage change I said the same thing, at the same time.

Promise. Thanks, Dr. Kate. Happy almost New Year. We watched as the family of four piled into their SUV parked in front of our entrance, the mischievous twins sliding over to make room in the back for Keanu. Before the door slammed shut, I saw one of the boys hand the shiny black dog a bright red Frisbee.

My receptionist, Cindy, started laughing. We should make up some ‘No Frisbee’ signs for those guys.

I sank into one of the reception chairs and asked, Are we done for the morning?

Mari slumped into the chair opposite me, her brown eyes glazed. Please tell me we can eat lunch now. It’s twelve thirty-two.

Surprise. Cindy got up from her desk, purse and coat in hand. We watched as she flipped our office sign to CLOSED. Dangling her car keys in the air, she said, Our next appointment isn’t until two. The answering service is picking up our calls, so you both can relax. I’ve got to get to the bank and shop for some office supplies, but I’ll be back to open up by one thirty.

The last time we’d had such a long lunch was when one of our house-call clients got murdered.

Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone. Cindy gave me a look like she’d read my mind. Then with a blazing white cheerleader smile she let herself out the front door, locked us in, and hurried over to her truck. Despite the wind, her hair remained undaunted, as unmoving as a steel helmet, stiff with spray.

We didn’t wait around to watch her leave.

This feels like I’m on vacation. Mari laughed as she hurried toward the employee break room to get her food.

Don’t jinx it, I said.

***

With so much extra time, I suggested we eat lunch at my place. It wasn’t a long commute. One of the perks of the job, if you could call it that, was living in the attached converted garage apartment. It consisted of a bedroom alcove, a bathroom, small kitchen, living room, and not much more. With a student loan debt of over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars after graduating from Cornell University School of Veterinary Medicine, not having to pay rent made living in a converted garage more palatable.

My rescue dog, Buddy, barked and twirled with pleasure as we opened the apartment door. He loved company but also knew that Mari sometimes dropped delicious things on the floor that I allowed him to gobble up. Vacuuming up stray food was Buddy’s contribution to housekeeping.

Usually when Mari comes into the apartment she says, Looking good. This time she simply shook her head.

I know. I know. The last week had been particularly frenzied. Piles of stuff were scattered all over the place. My boyfriend, Luke Gianetti, was finishing up his first semester in law school, living and working near the school, so I had no motivation to tidy up. At least that was my rationale. On the kitchen table, Mari found my list of things to do before he joined me for New Year’s.

While munching on her sandwich, she eyeballed it.

The microwave pinged, signaling my canned soup was ready.

You’ve got way too much on this list, she commented between bites.

Welcome to my life. When I opened the microwave, I heard my soup bubbling. I’d punched in the wrong number of minutes and turned my tomato bisque into lava.

No, that’s not what I mean. She ripped open a bag of chips and started munching. If your list is too long, it can be discouraging. Professional organizers say you should break your chores up into manageable units.

Units? I also misjudged the temperature of the blue ceramic soup bowl and yelled, Ouch! while racing for the kitchen table.

Mari noticed my dilemma but stayed focused on her advice. Yes, units. That’s what they call them, Kate. Like a math problem, I suppose.

Okay. I blew on my soup a few times before trying it once more. How do you know all this?

She held a finger up to indicate a full mouth.

Seeing her occupied, I stole a couple of chips.

Well, my sister-in-law, Barbara, signed up for this lecture series on home organization at the community center. I’m going with her tonight. Her dark eyebrows arched as she turned and asked, Want to join us?

I did a slow pan around the room. Stacks of stuff were everywhere, multiple single socks lay scattered on the floor in no discernable pattern, and dirty clothes draped over the furniture. After clearing my throat, I managed a sarcastic You think I need to?

Hey, I’ve got a roomie to help me. You’re all by yourself, plus half the time you work on the weekends, what with treatments and emergencies. I’m surprised it looks this good in here.

Thanks. Mari always had my back. I have to admit I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately.

She finished off the last of the chips and crumpled the bag. So, the lecture starts at six, followed by a short Q and A. It’s over by eight. Why don’t you meet us there? Count it toward your New Year’s resolutions.

I was about to protest that I had too much to do but then realized that most nights I simply sacked out on the sofa with my dog, poured a glass of wine, and watched HGTV.

Okay, I promised her. It’s a date.

Chapter Two

I got to the community center a little late, thanks to a last-minute email from a client confused about his kitty’s insulin dosage. I’d been to the center a few times, once to cheer on a client with a performing parrot. The large, paved lot next to the center, one of the newer buildings in town, was filled with cars tonight, forcing me to park at the far end.

Despite our recent December snowstorm, the main entrance was newly shoveled, with fresh sand spread about for added traction. Once inside the double glass doors, I followed the signs for the home-organizing lecture. The designated room proved easy to find and held a much larger audience than I expected. At the podium, a speaker discussed wood versus laminate cabinets. Mari had promised to save me a place, so once I caught a glimpse of her curly Afro in the front row, I attempted to join her. No such luck. The speaker paused, frowned at me, then pointed to the few empty seats near the back. I chose the closest aisle, slipped off my backpack and winter coat, and piled them on the seat next to me.

Behind me a man with a pink muffler around his neck scribbled in a pocket notebook.

The topic seemed to be drawers. I didn’t know the speaker’s name, but she’d dressed very professionally in a black pantsuit and white shirt. A striking green necklace made of large beads in differing shades drew attention to her attractive face. Her abundant brown hair with salon-bleached blond streaks was sleekly contained in a French braid. She radiated confidence.

As I tried to concentrate on her presentation, my body temperature went from comfortably warm to boiling hot. The room air smelled stuffy, full of people. Someone must have turned the heat up because my forehead quickly beaded up with sweat. In a hurry to leave my apartment, I’d neglected to layer, so I had nothing on under my heavy wool sweater except underwear. With sweat rolling down my back and sliding down my front, it became hard to concentrate on organizing your drawers.

While the lecturer continued discussing different drawer liner options, I scanned the room. Along the right wall was a beverage area. My salvation, in the form of a large iced-water dispenser, beckoned. As quietly as possible I stood up, reminding myself to grab a few extra napkins for damage control. Maybe I could casually stuff them down my bra?

And we have a volunteer, the lecturer said loudly. The blond woman in the back. Let’s give her a hand.

I frantically searched for another blond but soon realized the applause was for me.

Dabbing delicately at my face with my sleeve, I slowly walked down the center aisle and stood next to her.

So tell us, the lecturer said, pausing and raising her palm toward me like I was a game show prize. What is your name?

Kate, I answered.

Tell us, Kate, what do you use to line your dresser drawers?

Instead of making something up, I told the truth. I’m not sure. Some kind of wrapping paper, I think? It was in the drawers when I moved in.

The look of disgust on her face could have earned an Academy Award. You put your clean clothes on top of someone else’s…used…drawer liner? Did you wipe it off first?

This time I lied and said, Yes.

I don’t think she believed me. When I searched for a bit of sympathy from the audience, only Mari managed a smile.

The presenter paused dramatically, then sighed. I think Kate here needs our help. A ripple of laughter rose from the mostly female audience, some of whom I recognized as my clients. I tried to slink away, but the organizer said, Just a moment, Kate.

She took a step toward me, then picked something off my shoulder and held it up like a dead bug. What is this?

Trapped with the evidence dangling in front of me, I straightened my back, stared her in the eye, and replied in a loud voice, Dog hair.

More peals of merriment from the audience. Someone with a braying laugh sounded particularly amused.

With a cluck of her tongue, she wrapped the fur in a Kleenex fished out of her jacket pocket and announced, You, my dear, don’t just need help; you need an intervention.

***

Well, that went well, Mari announced as the three of us drank decaf coffee and munched cookies in the lounge area after the lecture.

Her sister-in-law, Barbara, came to my defense. I know it was just in fun, but Sookie Overmann could have been nicer to you. With her prominent overbite, Barbara always reminded me of one of my rabbit patients.

I’ll exact my revenge by taking an extra cookie, I announced. Using a napkin, I placed a fat oatmeal raisin cookie in the center, put another on top, then folded the napkin over them both and stowed them in my backpack. Talk about embarrassing.

One of my clients spotted us and came over. I’m so sorry you got picked on tonight, Dr. Kate. But you aren’t the only one. Sookie said something snotty to Larissa Jarris last week that had her in tears.

One by one other members of the audience stopped by, offering their condolences.

This is definitely not the way to increase your clientele, Mari said. She pointed to a stack of business cards at a nearby table, then took an identical one out of her purse.

I read it out loud. Overmann Organizing. Let a professional organize your home and your life.

For effect I tore it into confetti. Guess I won’t be needing this.

Just then the presenter herself, Sookie Overmann, slid past, gathered up her business cards, and, head held high, made for the exit. In her well-tailored black pantsuit, winter coat under her arm, she cut a much more formal presence than her audience members, most of whom wore jeans and sweatshirts. I wondered if she usually mingled with the crowd.

One of the audience members broke away from her friends, walked over, and said her goodbyes. After a brief conversation, Sookie continued toward the front exit doors.

She may not have much of a bedside manner, Barbara remarked, but she knows her stuff. I feel ready to tackle my husband’s drawers.

Mari’s explosive laugh turned a few heads.

Enjoying our night out, we sat and talked. Other participants also gathered in groups, taking advantage of this winter social event. After about twenty minutes the crowd began to thin. Barbara didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. When Mari suggested they get going, she looked at her watch and said, Just a little longer. Steve is putting the kids to bed and promised to do the dishes. If he gets it all done, I’ll consider it a miracle.

Knowing my brother, I second that, Mari said.

Soon the room had emptied, leaving Mari, Barbara, and me alone in the lounge. A janitor in gray coveralls started emptying wastepaper baskets and straightening chairs.

Time to go, I suppose, Barbara said.

Mari put on her coat and asked me if I wanted to walk out with them.

I think I’ll use the restroom. You go ahead. I picked up my belongings and thanked the women for inviting me. Nice seeing you, Barbara.

You, too.

Mari and her sister-in-law walked toward the front door. I took a quick look around, trying to remember where the bathrooms were.

Can I help you? the janitor called out.

Yes. Where are the restrooms?

Straight down that hallway and to the right. He bent back down and picked up a spray bottle of cleaner.

Thanks. I’ll be quick.

No hurry. Won’t be closing up for another half an hour.

Hoping not to be the last to leave, I slipped my backpack over my shoulder and took off down the hall. Midway down, I caught a glimpse of a janitor in a gray utility jacket and a baseball cap. His back was to me as he slid a large, black garbage bag along the floor.

In my hurry, I must have taken a wrong turn because I ended up in front of the crafts room. I hadn’t visited the community center in a while, and this late at night all the hallways looked the same. The bright overhead lighting was amplified in the white corridors. After another wrong turn, I doubled back and finally spotted the restroom signs.

The women’s room appeared to be empty. A small armchair in the corner proved a convenient place for my coat. After washing up, I looked in the mirror. The overhead fluorescent lights cast twin gray shadows under my eyes, lending an unhealthy, yellowish gleam to my pale skin. Why did they always have the most unflattering lighting in public restrooms? At least my hair wasn’t sticking straight up, crackling with static electricity.

After making a mental note to apply blush before I went out in public, I slipped on my coat. Thank goodness this night was over. Oh well; my staff would think my Q and A with Sookie was hysterical. I hoped I wouldn’t bump into any more clients on the way out. A quick glance at my watch noted the time at eight forty-five.

I glanced around for the janitor to say good night but didn’t see him. The lounge area, now empty, resembled a hotel lobby. My lone footsteps echoed loudly on the shiny floor tiles. Braced for the cold, I pushed open the glass doors and checked to make sure the walkway wasn’t slippery.

Because I’d been late getting to the lecture, I’d been forced to park at the end of the parking lot. Now only two vehicles remained in the lot, each with a fresh dusting of snow. Closest was my beat-up Ford F-150 pickup, with the magnetic Oak Falls Animal Hospital signs on its front doors. Next to it sat a boxy new RAV4.

A bright motion detector light flicked on just before I got to the truck. Startled, I stared into the yellow beam, temporarily blinding myself. Bolted above what I guessed was a back door, it illuminated the walkway leading to this part of the parking lot. Glad for the extra light, although momentarily seeing glowing circles, I slid into the front seat, then dropped my backpack on the passenger seat. I started the engine and was about to leave when I noticed what looked like a pile of clothes next to the building. Bushes partially obstructed my view.

Even with the truck’s high beams on, I still couldn’t make out what it was. But if those clothes contained a human or an animal, they’d freeze to death tonight.

My guard up, I removed the pepper spray from the side pocket of my backpack. It was a gift from my Gramps, who made me promise to carry it with me at all times. As a fireman, then an arson investigator in New York City, he’d seen too many bad things happen to women. Prepare for the worst, Katie, Gramps always said.

I got out of the truck and carefully approached the lump, not knowing what to expect. I called out, Hello? Are you all right? Gradually, my mind translated what my eyes saw: legs protruding from a black pantsuit. An expensive dark wool coat crumpled in a heap.

Her upper body curled slightly, like a snail in the snow, Sookie Overmann lay motionless, cheek resting in a pool of frozen blood. Above her perfect French braid gaped a nasty head wound. Splattered with red and lying in the nearby bushes was the yellow-handled snow shovel that had bashed her head in.

Chapter Three

Tired and thirsty, with a headache that wouldn’t quit, I sat in my truck next to Oak Falls Chief of Police Bobby Garcia’s SUV, its emergency lights making day out of night. I was still parked in the community center parking lot about twenty feet from the crime-scene tape. After checking for a pulse, I’d called 911 and waited for help. That had been forty minutes ago.

Through the windshield I saw Sookie’s legs sticking out of the bushes, but no house had fallen on this wicked witch.

Chief Garcia asked me to tell him everything I remembered. Anxious to repeat my story and get home, I began to explain but then backtracked to add more background and clarification about why I was at the lecture. A flood of words erupted, and I realized he didn’t find them helpful.

Gather your thoughts and I’ll be right back.

Portable lights had been set up as photos were taken and evidence collected. Everyone worked efficiently. As more time passed I started to feel hungry, since I’d skipped dinner. After rooting around in my backpack, I remembered those oatmeal raisin cookies I’d taken while happily chatting with Mari and Barbara. It felt like years ago.

The sugar soon revived me, and I began to go over the evening in my mind, placing the events in a logical sequence, as I did when taking a patient history. That meant one emotional image needed to be pushed to the back—the sight of Sookie curled up dead in the fallen snow.

The police chief tapped on the hood of the truck and beckoned me to join him. With the temperature hovering around thirty-four degrees, he decided to take my statement inside his nice warm vehicle.

We can postpone this if you’d like, he said. His jowly face showed concern.

I shook my head. No, I’m fine. Better to tell it now while my memory is fresh.

In a conversational voice he explained the procedure to me. This was to be an audiotape only, so nodding or gesturing wouldn’t convey any useful information.

Understood. Should I start from when I left the restroom?

A text message pinged on his phone. As he looked down at the screen he answered, That should be sufficient for now.

Once ready, he turned off the heat so the blower noise wouldn’t interfere with the recording. The chief held up the phone and began. After a slew of official declarations that included time, date, place, and case number, he cued me with a pointed index finger.

This is the statement of witness Dr. Kate Turner, who discovered the victim.

I squinted a little. The chief had turned on the bright overhead dome light.

Can you state your name for the record?

That began my lengthy interview. After I went through my movements, step by step, the chief peppered me with questions. By the end, I could barely think.

At last, he turned off the phone and clicked the heat back on. We might need to do this again at the station. I’ll be in contact.

Well, you know where I am. The Oak Falls Animal Hospital receptionist, Cindy, happened to be the chief’s sister-in-law. A former head cheerleader at Oak Falls High School, Cindy had a perky exterior that softened her drill sergeant personality. She bossed us all around, and we let her. Not even the chief of police was immune.

When I opened the passenger side door and started to slide out, my pants stuck to the vinyl. No leather interiors for surveillance vehicles. You sure I can go now?

His head tilted up from his computer screen. Yes. Want a police escort? It’s no problem, but it might take a while to find someone.

I opened the door and inched off the tacky seat. No thanks. I’ve got to get up early and work tomorrow. I’ll be okay. The cold air blasted me in the face. For once, I welcomed it.

The chief called after me. Sookie Overmann was the victim of a vicious, angry attack tonight. Gray patches under his eyes made him appear older than he was. You be careful out there, Doc.

***

Not a single car passed me on the twenty-minute ride home. The dark trees cast no shadows; only the snow shone briefly in my headlights. By ten fifteen, I passed the hospital sign and with relief drove through the parking lot to the side entrance of my apartment. A large truck with an attached snowplow idled a few feet from my door. Plumes of exhaust billowed white in the freezing temperatures.

Then a giant holding a big wrench got out.

Over six feet tall and three hundred pounds plus, my neighbor, Pinky, cut a formidable figure. To the people who knew him, he was a pussycat. He waited as I climbed out of the truck.

Heard the news on the police radio, he said. Someone mentioned your name. Figured you’d be home late, so me and Princess waited for you.

An elderly poodle pressed her muzzle to the glass and barked.

You working tonight? I hoisted my backpack and locked the truck door.

Yep. He shifted his weight. One of the weekenders decided to drive up tomorrow, so I got to go plow him out.

Pinky ran two very popular businesses—winter snowplowing, and summer yard work and cleanup.