On an impulse, I opened my cell and called my fiancé, Detective Sean Griffiths. I apologized for calling him at work, but he said he was glad to take a break from his paperwork. He was immediately concerned whether I was calling because of still feeling blue. Ever since Christmas break ended and my son, Trey, had headed back to UNC Wilmington, I’d been a bit in the dumps. “If you’re thinking about Trey, don’t worry, Lila. I’m sure he’s doing fine. Besides, it’ll be spring break before you know it and then he’ll be back and eating you out of house and home.”
I laughed. So true. Trey had recently developed an interest in cooking, and his new hobby had taken its toll on my food budget. “Actually,” I said, “Bentley’s got us all hopping enough that I haven’t had time to worry as much about Trey.” Then I told Sean about my hunt for the wayward dog’s owner, and he suggested calling the pet store, where I’d seen what I thought might be the same puppy last summer. If it was the same dog, they might have records on the buyer.
But I didn’t need to call. I glanced across the street and noticed the lights were on at All Creatures, Feathered and Furry. The store wasn’t usually open on Sundays, but it looked like the owner, Matt, might be in doing a little extra work.
“Hello, Matt?” I called out, entering through the shop’s main door. The place appeared to be empty. “Matt?”
Somewhere in the back of the store I heard a soft swishing noise. I made my way down the cat toy aisle, my eyes catching here and there on new little treats I’d love to buy for Eliot, an orphaned cat our office manager, Vicky, had introduced to the agency last summer. “Matt?” I called out again. “It’s Lila.”
“I’m back here,” he answered.
I finally found him in the back corner of the store near the puppy and kitty area. He was stooped over sweeping up water and broken glass. Pieces of splintered wood and sea coral littered the floor around him. “Oh no! What happened?”
He stopped sweeping and glared up at me. My stomach gave a little lurch. With his larger-than-a-linebacker size, Matt was an imposing figure under any circumstances, but I’d never seen him look angry before. It was more than a little intimidating. “I’ll tell you what happened. That menacing little mutt killed half my fish. Look at all this damage! Do you know how much this setup cost me?”
“Olive?” I asked, my eyes roaming to what must have been a very large saltwater aquarium. It looked like the stand had been tipped over. “You think Olive did this?”
“Well, what should I think? I’d just come by to check on a few things and when I opened the door that dog shot out of here like a bat out of hell. Come over here,” he said, leading me to the area where he kept puppies. “Look at this.”
I’d always liked the way Matt set up his shop. He housed only a few animals at a time, all of them “last chance” animals brought in from shelters across the state. He kept the dogs in a large, open pen where they could trot around and play together. “I’ve only got one cat and two other dogs right now. They’ve been going home with me in the evenings and on the weekends, but Olive . . .” His voice trailed off as he shook his head and pointed down at the doorframe, which looked like it’d been attacked by a shark. “That darn dog’s chewed it to the point where I can’t even get the door to shut anymore. That dog’s such a pain in the—”
“I’m sorry, Matt. This looks like a huge mess. It’s hard to believe that one little dog could do this much damage.”
He shook his head. “You don’t even know the half of it. You should see what she did to our house last time I took her home. My wife is still upset about it. You know, I’m glad that dog is gone. For all I care, she can fend for herself out there on the streets!”
I had to keep from laughing at the absurdity of this statement. When I first met Matt I was taken aback, alarmed even, by his imposing physical stature, immediately thinking of Lennie Small, Steinbeck’s lumbering character in Of Mice and Men. Not a good thing, since Lennie often killed the animals in his care. But as I’d come to know Matt, especially the uncanny rapport he had with the animals in his store, I’d begun to think of him more like Lofting’s Dr. Dolittle. Admittedly, I sometimes caught myself wondering if Matt actually did possess a secret ability to talk to animals. But one thing I knew for sure: He cared. He cared for every animal he ever came across, and Olive was no exception.
“Oh, is that so?” I bantered back. “Are you sure you don’t care about what’s happened to her?”
He suddenly looked concerned. “Why? Do you know where she is?”
I nodded.
“Where?”
“Thought you didn’t care.”
He shuffled a bit, the corners of his lips tugging into a little grin. “It’s just that it’s hard telling what type of trouble she might get into. I’d hate for her to bother anyone else.”
“In that case, you should probably know that she’s at the pub.”
His eyes popped open. “At the pub? You mean outside the pub, right?”
“Nope. Inside.”