“A wolf or a coyote wouldn’t know black from polka dot.”
While dogs and cats, and by extension wolves and coyotes, weren’t truly color-blind, they didn’t see colors the way we did. Most things were variations of black and gray and muted blue and yellow. Or so I’d heard.
“Might be kids playing around,” I continued.
“Sacrificing black animals to Satan?”
“You think we have a devil-worshipping cult or maybe a witches’ coven? In Three Harbors?”
She drew herself up, which wasn’t very far, but she did try. “There are witches.”
“From what I understand, they’re peaceful. Harm none. Which would include black animals.”
“Something weird is going on.”
“Kids messing around,” I repeated. “Though I doubt they’re stealing black animals and keeping them safe in a cage somewhere just for the hell of it.”
Which brought us right back to budding serial killer. Or two.
“Would you be able to give me a list of all the animals you treat that are black?” she asked.
“If the owners agree.”
Wisconsin statues allowed the release of veterinary records with permission from the owner.
“Why would anyone care about the release of the color of their pet’s fur to the police?”
“Never can tell,” I answered.
If there was one thing I’d learned in this job it was that people were a lot stranger than animals.
*
At five-thirty, Joaquin flicked the lock on the front door and turned off the waiting room lights, then followed me through the exam room to the rear exit.
Trees ringed the parking lot that backed my clinic. Only my Bronco and a waste receptacle occupied the space. However, I’d had a night-light installed, and it blazed bright as the noonday sun.
“Sorry to leave you with the Horace and Tigger problem,” I said.
“It was my fault for letting Horace run free.”
It had been, and I’d bet he’d never do it again. Between patients I’d seen him sweeping up dirt from an overturned potted plant and wiping the floor beneath one of the chairs. It was anyone’s guess if Horace had peed and Tigger had knocked over the plant or vice versa.
I’d never had a better assistant than Joaquin. His long-fingered, gentle hands calmed the wildest pet. He also had the best manners of any adolescent in town, not that there’d been much of a contest. From what I’d seen of the Three Harbors youth, being a smart-mouthed überdelinquent was the current fashion.
“You going home or did your mom work today?”
Joaquin lived in a trailer park outside of town. Not a long trip, but one that involved a sketchy stretch of two-lane highway, with only a bit of gravel on the side. I didn’t want him walking it after dark, and at this time of year, dark had come a while ago.
“She’s working.”
“You’re going straight to the café?”
His lips curved at my concern. “If you saw where we lived before we came here … This place is safe as houses, my mom says. Although I don’t really know what that means beyond really safe.”
Three Harbors was safe, at least for people, which reminded me. “Have any of the kids been talking about…” I wasn’t sure what word to use. Did they call Satanism something else these days? And if so, what? “Cults?” At his blank expression, I kept trying. “Sects? Devil worship?”
“That’s why the chief wanted the list of black animals?” His voice was horrified. “Someone’s killing them?”
“We don’t know that.”
“What do we know?”
I hesitated, but now that I’d opened the door, I couldn’t close it without freaking out Joaquin worse than he already was.
“There are several cats, a dog, and a rabbit missing. They’re all black, which almost surely rules out a feral dog, coyote, or wolf.”
He nodded. The kid knew nearly as much about animals as I did.
“I was thinking that since it’s so close to Halloween, maybe some kids were messing around. Hear anything?”
“No one talks to me at school.” He twitched one shoulder in an awkward, uncomfortable half shrug. “I’m Mexican.”
Three Harbors didn’t have a lot of Mexican-Americans. In fact, now that Joaquin and his mom were here, we had two.
“I don’t fit in,” he continued. “I’m dark and foreign and new.”
Joaquin was a beautiful boy—ebony hair, ebony eyes, ridiculous lashes—also ebony—smooth cinnamon skin.
“Doesn’t that make you exotic and exciting?”
“Not,” he muttered.
“No one’s talked to you?”
“Teachers. I heard one of the kids saying that I didn’t speak English.”
“And what did you say to that?”
“Hablo Inglés mejor que usted habla Espa?ol, estúpido.”
“You didn’t.”
“You understood me?”
“I’d have to be estúpido not to understand estúpido. Once I got that much, the rest wouldn’t really matter. Have you been participating in class?”
“Have to.”
“In English?”
He cast me a disgusted glance. “Have to.”