While My Pretty One Knits (11 page)

Or maybe it was her way of getting Peter to open up more?

“Damn right it’s hard,” he said quickly.

“What was stolen?” Lucy asked. She was curious. She didn’t remember seeing that detail reported in the paper and while Dana had said the place had been ransacked, even she hadn’t mentioned missing property.

“A laptop computer.” Peter’s tone was defensive. “An expensive one, too. She always had it with her. She worked on it night and day. I don’t even know where she got the money to buy it. She bought that big spinning wheel, too. That didn’t come cheap. She must have sold some of her knitting designs. We weren’t talking very much lately.”

Understandably. If Amanda had come into any extra funds in the middle of their divorce, she wasn’t about to share the bounty with him.

“And they emptied out her wallet,” he offered as further proof. “Turned this place upside down looking for more. Whoever broke in probably thought there was a cash box somewhere but Amanda always took that home.” He had found a roll of paper towels in a cupboard and now crouched down to clean the floor where the dog had spit up.

Well, wiped it up more or less, Lucy noticed.

He stood up and tossed the wad of towel in a wastepaper basket. “I think it was kids who wanted money for drugs or were looking for anything they could carry out of here and sell,” he added. “Amanda must have surprised them. Or maybe they came in without realizing she was here.”

“You might be right.” Maggie’s tone was neutral, though Lucy knew better. She knew Maggie thought it could just have easily been Peter who surprised Amanda.

“Of course I’m right,” he argued with her. He sounded angry now. “It’s the only logical explanation. You know how Amanda was. She wouldn’t have just let someone take what they wanted from her. She would have put up a fight.”

He was right about that. Lucy could see the situation unfolding just that way. Amanda would not have given in easily to some nasty kid—even two nasty kids—who had violated her territory. She wouldn’t have run away, either.

“What about the dogs? Wouldn’t they have tried to protect her?” Lucy looked over at Tink and three others.

None were huge, but together, barking and growling, she imagined they’d scare off most intruders.

“Crooks know how to handle dogs. These dogs make a racket, but they’re not exactly pit bulls.”

That they were not. Lucy looked back at Tink again. She was curled on a dog bed, her head resting on her paws. She stared back at Lucy with sad brown eyes.

“Hey, what did you think of the spinning wheel?” Peter suddenly asked Maggie. “Practically brand-new. A big one like that costs a few hundred dollars. I’ll move it for you, too.”

“It is a nice one. But I already have a wheel in the shop. I’d take some fleece, though.”

“I thought there were a few back here somewhere. You didn’t see any?” Peter headed to the rear of the shop again and Maggie followed.

While they searched for fleece, Lucy walked over to Tink. She carefully sidestepped the wet spot on the floor, then crouched down and stroked the dog’s head.

Tink looked up at her, licked her hand, then let out a long rattling breath, her eyes half closed. Lucy continued to stroke her soft fur.

“Ready, Lucy?” Lucy turned at the sound of Maggie’s voice. She stood nearby with Peter.

Peter had his hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans, watching her. “You like that dog? You can have her, if you want.”

His tone was offhand, almost joking. But Lucy could tell he was serious.

She stared at him, but didn’t answer.

“Go ahead. Take her. I’ll throw in a leash and some dog food.”

Lucy felt Maggie staring at her, but didn’t meet her glance.

“She is sweet,” Lucy said.

“Sure, she’s sweet. The nicest of the lot. I don’t want any of them.” Peter raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “They’re all going to the pound.”

“All right. In that case, I will take her.”

He looked pleased. At least he’d made one sale today. “Great. I’ll get the leash.”

Before Lucy could change her mind, he walked to the back of the shop and disappeared into the office.

Maggie moved closer. “Are you sure? Dogs are a big responsibility.”

“I know.”

Lucy wasn’t sure at all. Didn’t she need to keep her options open? What if she met someone who had allergies? What if she wanted to go away for the weekend? Or just ended up staying over some guy’s house unexpectedly?

Okay, she’d been in a dry spell dating-wise lately—the Sahara actually—but it was not beyond the range of possibilities, for heaven’s sake.

Dana had said Amanda took in all these dogs as a substitute for children. Lucy wondered if this meant she’d given up herself and was going that route, too.

Somehow, she couldn’t leave the dog here with Peter. The dog was sick and Peter could care less. Even if she didn’t keep Tink forever, at least she could get that cough looked at.

She strolled over to Tink, who seemed to sense she was being talked about. She’d gotten up from her bed and sat at attention. She stared up at Lucy, in a very “good dog” pose.

Peter returned with the leash dangling from one hand and half a bag of dog food in the other. “Here you go. She eats one cup in the morning and one at night. Well, she hasn’t been eating that much lately. I think she’s missing Amanda.”

He handed Lucy the leash and she bent over to clip it on the dog’s collar. Tink jumped around, definitely delighted to be sprung from the Knitting Nest.

“Amanda brought the dogs to the vet down on Main Street,” Peter added. “He’d have her records; shots and that sort of thing.”

When Lucy stood up again, she found Maggie watching her. “She
is
very sweet. I hope she’s housebroken.”

“Me, too.” Lucy hadn’t even thought of that. It seemed too late now to ask.

Lucy and Maggie had driven over in separate cars and parted in front of the Knitting Nest. “Thanks again for coming with me,” Maggie said. “I have no idea if he killed his wife. But something about that man gives me the shivers,” she confided in a whisper.

“I hear you.” Lucy glanced over her shoulder and looked back at the shop.

Peter had headed back to Amanda’s office as they’d let themselves out. But Lucy kept glancing over her shoulder, feeling as if he might be watching from a window.

As Maggie drove off, Lucy opened the back door of her car and Tink boarded with a well-practiced hop. She headed for home, making a mental list of items she needed at the grocery store, many for the dog.

Just as she turned down Main Street, Tink hacked a few times and spit up in the back of the car. Lucy glanced over her shoulder at the mess, then back at the road.

Great. There is definitely something wrong with a person who adopts a sick dog, isn’t there?

Lucy remembered Peter mentioning the vet at the end of Main Street. Lucy drove slowly, searching for the building. The sign came into view, “Harbor Animal Hospital,” the words flanked by a silhouette of a dog and cat.

She saw lights on in the office and a few cars in the parking lot. Good sign. It was after six, but apparently, the office was still open.

She pulled into the lot and found a spot, then led Tink into the entrance. The dog suddenly recognized where she was and had to be dragged the last few steps through the door. As Lucy yanked her inside, a receptionist in an inner office peered out at her from a window.

“I don’t have an appointment…but my dog is pretty sick. I think she’s been here before.”

The receptionist gave her a puzzled look. “Without you, you mean?”

It took a few minutes for Lucy to explain she had just adopted the dog from the Gorans and Tink’s records would be found under that name. Finally, the receptionist turned to her computer and found Tink in the files. She asked Lucy a few questions to update the records, then told her to wait. She and Tink would be called in a little while.

Tink paced and strained on the leash, trying to sniff a cat hidden in a plastic crate on an older woman’s lap. The crate bounced around, emitting a low growling sound. Tink jumped back, then wiggled between Lucy’s legs. Lucy tried to calm her, patting the dog’s head as Tink panted heavily.

The woman with the cat was called inside, but not before she gave Lucy a dirty look over her shoulder. Lucy pretended not to notice.

There was nothing to read, except a tattered magazine about horses and a large poster depicting the life cycle of the heartworm.

Lucy studied the poster, serving to remind her just how pitifully little she knew about dogs. Heartworms looked like pretty nasty customers. She’d never even heard of them before.

Lucy had always wanted a dog when she was a kid, but Ellen was allergic, or acted as if she was. Lucy thought now Ellen was just afraid of dogs. A dog would have been Lucy’s first choice, but anything with fur would have filled the need. Instead, she had settled for a series of what she realized now had been pseudo-pets—hermit crabs, newts, an entire school of goldfish.

Now, at last, she had one. Did it matter that she hadn’t the faintest idea how to train a dog, or take care of it? For goodness sakes, some people became parents knowing less about babies. She’d figure it out, Lucy assured herself.

She looked down at Tink, who had finally stretched out under the bench, her golden muzzle snuggled against Lucy’s shoe.

A tall woman dressed in a nurse’s pale green uniform came to the waiting door. “Tink?”

“Here we are,” Lucy said, resting her hand for a moment on the dog’s golden head.

L
ucy stood up and dragged the reluctant hound to the doorway and then to a small examining room, which was mostly filled by a bare metal table.

The nurse asked Lucy a few questions about the dog, and made notes on a chart. When she left, Lucy found herself studying more parasite posters, this time one that appeared to be the periodic table of ticks and fleas.

She turned to the other wall, which displayed an impressive collection of certificates and diplomas. It seemed Dr. McDougal had graduated from Cornell School of Veterinary Medicine. Lucy squinted to make out the date. Back in the…1970s? Which would make him somewhere around her father’s age, she calculated. That seemed reassuring.

She heard the door open again and turned. A man walked in dressed in jeans, a demim shirt, and a silk tie covered with cats and dogs. A stethoscope was slung around his neck.

“Matt McDougal. Nice to meet you.” He smiled and held out his hand. Lucy automatically shook it. “Lucy Binger.”

He was not what Lucy had expected. For one thing, he couldn’t have graduated Cornell in 1972 since most likely, he was either in diapers or hadn’t been born yet.

She snuck a peak at the certificate gallery again.

Ding
.

The diplomas belonged to his father, Dr.
George
McDougal.

“So, you’ve adopted this dog from the Gorans?” He flipped through pages in the file as he spoke to her. “That was nice of you. I heard about Mrs. Goran. Was she a friend?”

Lucy shook her head. “Not really.”

“Terrible, the way she died.”

“Yes, it was…really awful,” she agreed.

“Have the police caught anyone yet? I haven’t heard much.”

“They’re still investigating. I think they have a few leads,” she replied vaguely. She knew a lot about this topic, more than she wanted to admit.

“Well, that’s something. Everyone in town is talking about it.” He looked back at Tink’s chart. “People don’t think about making plans for their pets,” he added. “But the animals are left and nobody wants them.”

“That’s what’s happening to her dogs. Her husband said he was going to bring the rest to a shelter. So I took Tink. I think she’s sick. I saw her coughing and she spit up. He said she hadn’t eaten much the past few days, either.”

“Let’s take a look.” The doctor crouched down next to Tink and took her face in his hands. The dog melted into a fur slushie at his touch. She flattened herself to the floor, doing a great imitation of a yellow bath mat, Lucy thought.

He patted the dog with one hand while checking her ears and mouth, then listened to her heartbeat with the stethoscope, the light blue shirt fabric pulling over his broad shoulders as he gently wrestled Tink to hold her still.

The vet’s hand moved over Tink’s stomach, and the dog suddenly jerked and whined. The doctor looked concerned. He examined the sore spot at closer range, pushing aside the fur.

“Looks like she has a bruise on her ribs. One or two might be broken.”

That sounded painful. “How would she get hurt like that?” Lucy asked him.

“Hard to say.” He glanced up at her quickly. “Someone could have kicked her.”

Peter? He had a callous attitude toward the animals, but was he that cruel? Lucy wouldn’t have thought so. But she’d seen a different side of him today. The more she knew of him, the less she liked him. Now she wasn’t sure what to think.

“That situation wouldn’t necessarily cause vomiting. There could be some obstruction in her stomach or intestinal tract. I need to take an X-ray and do a blood test before we can tell what’s going on.”

Lucy nodded. She felt terrible for Tink. But she’d had the dog for what…ten minutes? This was going to cost a small fortune.

The doctor looked up from the file and closed it. “Don’t worry about the fee. We’ll work something out. I treat a lot of shelter cases pro bono. This is almost the same thing.”

“Thank you.” Lucy felt relieved. Dr. McDougal the Second was a nice guy. With a dimple in his chin. She hadn’t noticed that before.

He turned to a small sink and washed his hands. “I’d like to keep her overnight. Get some fluids into her. She’s definitely dehydrated.”

“Oh…all right. If you think that’s necessary?”

“I do. But I guess you were looking forward to taking her home, right?”

“Yeah, I was,” she admitted. “I never had a dog before.”

He smiled at her and Lucy felt suddenly…inane. Why had she told him that? A few smiles from a guy wearing a dog and cat tie, and she regressed to adolescence.

Her sister was right. She had to get out more.

“It’s about time, then. Something tells me you’re a dog person.” He smiled at her again and Lucy looked away, trying not to react to what seemed to be a compliment. “But I do need to keep her.”

Lucy nodded. “Whatever you say. I don’t want her to get any worse.”

Tink had wandered back to her side. Lucy bent over and stroked the dog’s head, then impulsively leaned over and kissed her on the ear. Tink answered with a quick lick on Lucy’s chin.

“Good-bye, Tink.” Lucy felt sad, giving her up so quickly. “Can I visit?” she asked the vet. “I mean, if you need to keep her longer than just one night?”

“Sure, you can visit her if she has to stay. Which I hope won’t be the case.”

Lucy handed him Tink’s leash. Then he opened the door, then politely stepped aside so Lucy could walk ahead while he followed with Tink.

They stood together in a narrow corridor, Tink panting and straining toward the next door, the one that led back into the waiting room and out to the parking lot.

“I’m going to x-ray her tonight. I’ll keep you posted,” Dr. McDougal promised.

“Good. I’d like to know what’s going on.”

When she met his glance again, Lucy felt a wave of…something. Something that didn’t have anything to do with the dog.

She opened the door to the waiting room while the vet tugged Tink in the opposite direction. Once outside, she waited awhile for the chart to be returned, then was called up to consult with the receptionist again.

“No charge for this visit,” the woman said, looking at the chart.

“Um…thank you.” Lucy grabbed a few flyers on dog care and headed for her car.

Dr. McDougal the Second had been a pleasant surprise. A bright spot in an otherwise challenging day.

She had a feeling he liked her…but she doubted he was single. That would be too easy. He hadn’t been wearing a ring but that didn’t mean anything. Lucy sighed. She’d be smart not to make too much of this.

Veterinarians did well with women, she guessed. It was the whole doctor thing. Vets were probably right up there with real doctors, cops, and firemen, of course…and professional athletes. Though she’d always heard carpenters, and handy guys in general, ranked pretty high in sex appeal surveys.

But this was about Tink, she reminded herself. She hoped there was nothing seriously wrong with the dog and just to keep on a positive track, she set off for the turnpike where she knew the warehouse-sized Pet Planet, the pet supply mega-store, would still be open. She would buy the dog a cozy bed, a set of bowls, some chew toys, and other necessities for her homecoming.

Considering her feelings about Amanda, it did seem a little odd to Lucy that she’d so willingly taken in one of the woman’s beloved companions.

But life had a way of taking strange, completely unpredictable turns. And wouldn’t it be deadly boring otherwise?

Lucy didn’t get home until nearly eleven. She dumped her assorted pet store purchases in the living room and kitchen, then checked her machine to find she’d missed a call from Dr. McDougal.

The irony of it. One of the first men she’d met in a while who had promised to call her, and then actually did.

He hadn’t left much of a message. Lucy was left to wonder if he’d made any progress diagnosing the dog.

After fixing some tea and kicking off her shoes, Lucy sat at the computer and checked e-mails. She meant to open the brochures she’d been working on, to review what she had to finish tomorrow, but instead, impulsively pulled up Google and typed the words “Amanda Goran” into the search window.

Several postings came up. The first few were connected with the Knitting Nest. One was for a beginners class Amanda had taught at adult education courses in the school district. There was also a posting of her name as an attendee at a conference in Boston and another as the runner-up in a design contest.

Second place. Wasn’t that the story of the poor woman’s life?

Lucy had expected to find some mention of knitting designs and she was curious to see them. Peter thought she’d been selling her designs recently. Doing well enough to buy a laptop and the big spinning wheel. Maybe even to afford her super makeover?

But Lucy didn’t find any posting of that type. None at all.

She thought of doing a different search but she was tired and it was already late. She had a lot to do tomorrow and answering this question wasn’t exactly an emergency.

She just let it go and headed for bed.

Lucy loved Suzanne’s house, a big rambling old colonial, always in the process of some home improvement project. Like many others who worked in real estate, Suzanne had fallen in love with a house she was assigned to sell—definitely in the “just needs TLC” category, but large enough to keep up with her growing family. She’d been pregnant with her twins at the time and now, eight years later, the place was still a work in progress. Suzanne’s husband, Kevin, was a contractor, which should have made the renovations easier, you would think. But just like the shoemaker whose kids are going barefoot, Kevin’s own home was always last on his list.

Lucy was the first to arrive. Suzanne’s oldest, a thirteen-year-old daughter, Alexis, answered the doorbell wearing an iPod.

Lucy tried to say hello. Alexis smiled and waved. Lucy wasn’t sure the girl actually heard her.

“Mom? Lucy’s here,” Alexis called out, then ran back upstairs.

Lucy heard a blender whirring. “Come on back,” Suzanne shouted over the noise from the kitchen.

Lucy knew the way and followed the appetizing aromas wafting through the rooms.

The group usually met in the great room, aptly named, which adjoined a drop-dead-gorgeous kitchen. This part of the house had been Suzanne’s home improvement priority and she’d gone the distance—top-of-the-line stainless-steel appliances, shiny black granite countertops, and walls of cherrywood cabinets.

Suzanne’s three children kept the area down to earth with school papers, sports schedules, and artwork plastered to the refrigerator and assorted miscellaneous evidence of their presence: sneakers, books, backpacks, and musical instruments.

“What did you make? It smells great,” Lucy said as she walked in.

Suzanne was busy at the sink, loading up the dishwasher. She glanced at Lucy over her shoulder. “Just Mexican. Guacamole and quesadillas. And some margaritas. Sort of a Cinco de Mayo in March theme? I am so flippin’ tired of winter, I can’t take it anymore. Here, have one…”

Suzanne poured Lucy a margarita from the blender, then filled a glass for herself. She had even coated the edges of the special glasses with coarse salt.

“Here’s to knitting,” Suzanne toasted. They clinked glasses and Lucy took a sip.

It was sweet, tart, salty, and cold all at once and when she closed her eyes a second, it did almost feel like summer.

Lucy wasn’t sure margaritas and knitting needles were the best combination, though a sip or two couldn’t hurt, she thought, and might even help her improvise when she misread her patterns. Unlike real life, knitting could be ripped back and started over the morning after. No explanations necessary.

Suzanne set a basket of chips and some chunky-looking guacamole in the center of a low wooden table in the great room. Lucy followed and sat on the big sectional that was dotted with large boldly colored pillows.

“You didn’t have to make all this food, Suzanne,” Lucy told her. “You spoil it for the rest of us. I can barely serve coffee and cake.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I like to cook for you guys. You actually sit, take your time, chew the food. Taste it. My kids inhale it and Kevin is usually watching the news, or he’s home so late the stuff has been sitting in the oven a few hours and the thrill is totally gone.”

Kevin’s contracting business was one of the busiest in town. Sometimes he bought low-end houses, renovated them, and Suzanne handled the sales end. They’d done well flipping a few times, though that market had gone pretty flat lately.

“I just don’t know how you pull it off, with the kids and your job and all.”

Suzanne laughed. “It’s like spinning plates, Lucy. You get one going, then start the next. Make sure the spinning ones don’t crash on the floor.”

Lucy liked that paradigm. If she ever had to juggle a job with child raising, she’d have to remember it. She scooped up some guacamole on a chip and popped it into her mouth.

“How did you make this? It’s awesome.”

“Secret recipe…I’ll write it down for you later.”

Suzanne’s twins ran into the room, Jamie and Ryan, who were eight years old. They both wore pajamas that looked like football uniforms, the New England Patriots, of course. Their hair was still wet from a shower, spiking up in spots.

They seemed to somehow be simultaneously wrestling while running side by side. They came to a stop, hurtling into Suzanne as if she were a human trampoline.

“Hey…what’s the story, guys? Did you finish your homework?”

The boys had finished their homework, they claimed, but were in a hot dispute over a handheld video game. Lucy could see now that Ryan, who was slightly larger, held it in one hand and waved it over his brother’s head.

Suzanne stood up, took the game, then took one boy by each arm, leading them out of the room.

“Okay, that’s it. I warned you about fighting over that game. You’re going to bed. Say good night to Lucy…”

“Good night, guys.” Lucy tried to smile at them, but they looked pretty unhappy. Jamie was red faced, about to cry, and Ryan was pleading his appeal.