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  Chained

  A Kate Turner, D.V.M., Mystery

  Eileen Brady

  Poisoned Pen Press

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by Eileen Brady

  First E-book Edition 2017

  ISBN: 9781464209567 ebook

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  The historical characters and events portrayed in this book are inventions of the author or used fictitiously.

  Poisoned Pen Press

  4014 N. Goldwater Boulevard, #201

  Scottsdale, Arizona 85251

  www.poisonedpenpress.com

  [email protected]

  Contents

  Chained

  Copyright

  Contents

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  More from this Author

  Contact Us

  Dedication

  To Logan Grant Biggs—I’d forgotten how joyous life

  could be until you smiled and captured my heart.

  Epigraph

  “Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.”

  —William Shakespeare

  “Dogs never bite me. Just humans.”

  —Marilyn Monroe

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank the staff at Poisoned Pen Press, Publisher Robert Rosenwald, and Editor-in-Chief Barbara Peters for their support of writers everywhere. A special thank you to my editor, Annette Rogers. Your thoughtful advice on Dr. Kate Turner’s love life was greatly appreciated. I’m thrilled with the beautiful cover by Holli Roach. Kudos to the hardworking employees of the Poisoned Pen Bookstore in Scottsdale, Arizona, for arranging the events and signings that promote my books. Always gracious and helpful, they make this independent bookstore a warm and inviting place for readers and authors—and the refreshments are delicious.

  There’s nothing like the input from a critique group to keep you on your toes. I’m grateful to each one of the Tuesday night Sheridan Street gang—Art Kerns, Sharon Magee, Charles Pyeatte, Sonja Stone, and our fearless leader, the incomparable Betty Webb.

  The unwavering support from my husband, Jonathan Grant, means everything to me, especially when I’m frantically trying to meet a deadline. I’d like to give a shout-out to fellow veterinarian, Dr. John Hynes, who’s been an enthusiastic supporter of my work from day one. Many thanks also to my sister and fellow author Rosemary Simpson for the lengthy afternoon phone calls commiserating on the woes of being a writer—they’ve been a welcome if slightly crazy diversion.

  My wonderful readers are always on my mind. In each book I work hard to make you laugh, relate some veterinary medicine, and offer an intriguing mystery to solve. Feel free to contact me at [email protected]. I love hearing from you.

  Throughout my life pets have always comforted me with their unconditional love. My cat and dog family members are convinced they help me write by lounging on my desk chair and showering me with fur. Wouldn’t trade it for the world. Finally, I truly believe that the human race is only at its finest when it shows compassion to all living creatures who share our beautiful yet fragile planet.

  Prologue

  He was luscious. Skin the color of thick, dark honey paired with tousled blond hair and a lazy smile that made you smile back. Flynn moved among his fellow men like a king—a young Alexander the Great—conquering everyone and everything around him.

  Funny and confident, yet understanding and compassionate. To be with him was intoxicating, addictive.

  The world turned cold when he wasn’t around. The scenery went from rich colors to black and white.

  Flynn was too good for his own good.

  Too irresistible.

  Which was why he had to die.

  Chapter One

  I must be out of my mind.

  Why I let my receptionist squeeze in a veterinary house call the morning of the wedding, I had no idea. As maid of honor I needed to be dressed and in place for a last-minute rehearsal at one o’clock. Instead of relaxing, I’m in an old pair of scrubs rushing to see a dog with a lump on his back.

  I’d graduated from veterinary school with a degree and a massive amount of student loans—about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth. Because of those debts I didn’t have the luxury of turning down work. That’s how I ended up in New York’s beautiful Hudson Valley running the Oak Falls Animal Hospital for absentee owner, Doc Anderson. While Doc enjoyed his round-the-world cruise, I held down the fort. As a relief vet, my job was to make money, not waves. After a bumpy start, things had settled down and I found I enjoyed meeting his pet-loving, and sometimes eccentric, clients. On the downside, as the only veterinarian, I survived on a steady diet of stress, lack of sleep, and frequent helpings of pie.

  “Let’s go, Mari.” My veterinary assistant had run back into the hospital for some last-minute supplies plus her emergency bag of potato chips. I gunned the animal hospital truck engine and draped my stethoscope on the rearview mirror. Eight o’clock Saturday morning in Oak Falls and I was already behind schedule.

  “Got it, Doc.” Mari slammed the passenger door, pulled on her seat belt, and gave me a thumbs-up. She’d already programmed our destination into the GPS, so with any luck we’d be at our appointment in about forty minutes. In case of delay, however, my maid of honor dress, swathed in plastic, swung back and forth from a hook directly behind me. We zipped along on a two-lane secondary road that paralleled the highway. Flashes of russet and gold foliage punctuated the stands of trees lining the road. Few people ventured out this early on Saturday morning. Even though Halloween was around the corner, today’s weather prediction called for sunshine and a high of sixty degrees—a glorious Indian summer day to be enjoyed to the fullest before winter hit.

  “Right turn in five hundred feet.” I slowed down the battered F-150. Our GPS spoke in a clipped British accent. Whenever I heard it I felt like offering him a cup of tea.

  Our appointment was in a very rural area outside of town. Here the homes were separated by several acres, intersp
ersed with farmland. I noticed all the properties along this stretch of road bordered New York State Park land. Dense stands of evergreens reached for the sky, creating puddles of green at the base of the gray-blue Catskill Mountains.

  “Destination on the left.”

  A long gravel driveway dotted with pine trees brought us to a modern log cabin home, complete with soaring roof and oversized glass windows, nestled in a slight valley.

  Mari’s big brown eyes opened wide. “Very nice.”

  I had to agree with my technician. This place was stunning.

  The builder had cleared a strategic part of the wooded property, exposing the killer mountain view. Off in the distance a narrow dirt road ran parallel to a crumbling stacked stone wall that separated the adjacent fields before it disappeared into the parkland—probably a service access trail of some sort.

  I slid the stethoscope out from behind the mirror, retrieved my doctor’s bag from the crowded backseat, and followed Mari to the front door.

  ***

  Before I could ring the doorbell we heard a menacing growl from inside. A human eyeball stared at us through a round peephole cut into the massive entry door.

  Knowing some people out in the country were a little skittish about strangers appearing on their doorstep, I waved a greeting. “Hi. I’m Dr. Kate Turner from the Oak Falls Animal Hospital.”

  Before I got most of the words out the heavy alder door opened and a slim young woman in jeans and a sweater greeted us over the barking of a large gray and white Malamute.

  “Samantha Miller. Come in, please. Stand down, Jack.” Obviously well trained, the dog immediately quieted down, although a suspicious rise of hair along his hackles remained.

  We pushed past the big dog who was intent on sniffing us and vigorously poking at various private parts through our coats.

  “Cut that out, Jack.” Samantha held her dog’s muzzle for a moment, then let go. An apologetic look rose in his dark doggie eyes. “You have to forgive him. We don’t get a lot of visitors.” The cozy smell of freshly brewed coffee perked me up. Jack stayed close to his mistress, the top of his head coming up to her waist.

  As we moved into the kitchen area I was struck by how beautiful the inside of the cabin was. The ceiling rose to a crazy height, with gigantic peeled logs spanning the entire length of the house from one end to another. A two-sided stacked fieldstone fireplace soared up to the roof. The open kitchen gleamed with stainless steel appliances and polished gray granite. White walls and dark wood floors unified the spaces. A vision of the chipped laminate countertops and old yellowed appliances in my rental apartment flashed into my mind—along with my student loan payment schedule. Oh well, someday.

  Mari stood thunderstruck. “Do you live here alone?”

  “Only on weekdays. My husband works in the city but he’s here late Friday through Monday morning.” Samantha didn’t seem to resent my assistant’s rather personal question. “I work for a software company, so all I need is the Internet and my computer.”

  I glanced again at the Malamute and observed a clump of fur sticking up along his back. “So, is Jack my patient? He looks pretty healthy.” At the sound of his name the handsome dog turned toward me, the black mask of his face expectant.

  “Yes, I feel horrible.” His owner reached out and immediately Jack nuzzled her hand. “I didn’t notice anything until last night when I touched his back right there.” She made a gesture toward the spot I’d noted.

  “Well, let me take a look.” Mari stepped in and held the approximately eighty-five-pound dog while I began my exam. After quickly determining his general health, I started walking my gloved fingers through his thick coat. As soon as I separated the sticky hairs I knew we had a problem.

  “He’s got a jagged laceration here that’s infected.”

  “Oh, no.” His owner sounded guilty.

  “Are there any barbed-wire fences around that he could have slipped under?” Malamutes and huskies are breeds notorious for taking off and exploring, often without their owners.

  “There’s a whole length of it up by the forestry trail leading into the state land. He got away from me a few days ago and disappeared for almost a half an hour. He wouldn’t come when I called and I got frantic. Finally, I gave up and decided to call my husband, but that’s when I saw him running down the hill toward me.”

  “I’m going to clean it and start him on an antibiotic. Can you give him pills?”

  “No problem, as long as it’s in a wad of cream cheese.” Her warm smile suggested she’d been down that route with him before.

  “Cream cheese? Lucky boy, Jack.” His plume-like tail wagged on hearing his name.

  With my clipper blade I carefully trimmed around the wound to expose the cut, scrubbed it with betadine solution, and followed with a saline lavage. After I disposed of my gloves I put Jack under house arrest—leash walks only and close observation for any change of mood or odd symptoms. Although tetanus is rare in dogs, it was still on my radar.

  “Does it need stitches?”

  “It’s infected now so we can’t suture it. That would trap the bacteria inside and make it worse. It should heal fine in about two weeks and when the fur grows in you won’t even be able to find it. I’m going to give him a long-acting shot of an antibiotic to get a jump start on the infection.”

  “Jack doesn’t have any problem growing hair, that’s for sure.” To prove her point Samantha pulled a tuft of grey fur off her black sweater.

  The sturdy guy had been a great patient. He’d barely moved as long as someone scratched his ears.

  Our work done, we began to say our good-byes. Mari e-mailed Samantha the wound instructions and scheduled a recheck in one week. Thanks to Jack’s cooperation and Mari’s efficiency, we were now right on schedule. As I pulled on my coat I asked, “How long have you had him?”

  “Since he was a puppy. We named him Jack for Jack London, the writer of Call of the Wild. He’s always been adventurous, digging up stuff, and bringing all kinds of things home.” She tucked a random strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I think he got hurt while fetching me a present.”

  “What kind of present?” Mari momentarily put down our laptop to button her coat.

  “Let me show you.” She walked over to the fireplace and picked something out of a wicker basket by the woodpile. “This is his latest. I guess it’s from a deer.”

  She placed a bone in my hand.

  I felt a jolt in my stomach. The bone I held didn’t come from a deer. It was human.

  My simple house call had suddenly morphed into something way more complicated.

  ***

  After I confessed my suspicions about Jack’s present, Samantha freaked and immediately began phoning everyone from 9-1-1 to the local forest rangers. Mari tried to reassure her that the bone probably was from an old Indian burial site. As a local she’d heard of several grisly discoveries made by unsuspecting homeowners. I wasn’t so sure.

  In my freshman year in college I’d taken several anthropology courses, and even gone on a dig with other students in my class. One of our assignments was to catalogue a cache of bones from a large Native American burial mound.

  The arm bone Jack the dog found felt heavy and much thicker than any of the bones I’d handled. My instinct told me this was no ancient artifact.

  Who had died and been buried in those deep dark woods?

  Chapter Two

  The bride and groom were a couple of pigs.

  “Here Comes the Bride” spilled out from the portable speakers as the bride trotted down the aisle. Lace anklets circled her four hooves while a fluffy white veil attached to a flower-encrusted headband cascaded over large pointed ears. I’d barely made it in time. As Dr. Kate Turner, the official maid of honor, I carried a bouquet of carrots, Swiss chard, and edible nasturtiums. The groom lifted his snout and sni
ffed appreciatively in my direction.

  Yes, I was a member of the wedding party for two potbellied pigs, the real ones who go “oink.” I served a dual function—personal veterinarian to the couple and emergency medical support. I’d been told to wear something flowing and romantic. Since that description didn’t match anything currently in my closet, I borrowed a vintage flowered chiffon dress from my office manager, Cindy, and stuck sprigs of baby’s breath in my hair to make a floral crown. The diverse guests sitting under the white party tent included a parrot, plenty of dogs, two annoyed cats, several snakes draped around their owners’ various body parts, and a whole bunch of potbellied piggies. Most of my fellow staff members from Oak Falls Veterinary Hospital were here to lend their support and eat free food. Even our shy kennel boy, Eugene, had shown up and sweetly volunteered to help keep the party area “tidy.”

  Why were the pigs getting married, you might ask?

  The truth—it was a shotgun wedding, their owner joked.

  Six little piglets were expected very soon.

  ***

  Accompanying me to the celebration as my friend—and not as a date, as I emphatically reminded him several times—was Oak Falls police officer and pre-law student Luke Gianetti. In his black suit and blue shirt he was undoubtedly the best-looking guy in the place, rivaled only by Angel, the groom, resplendent in his top hat and curled tail.

  Nancy Wagner, the owner of the pigs, was the brains behind the party. All proceeds from the publicity surrounding the event would go to local animal charities. One of Nancy’s wealthy friends provided her gigantic home overlooking the Hudson River for the affair and a chef acquaintance had offered to cater the event at cost. Everything was lovely, even if Penelope, the bride, ended up eating part of her veil.

  Unaccustomed to such high heels I concentrated on not falling over as I walked down the aisle, with the pregnant bride trotting directly behind me, obviously not happy with my slow pace. Straining on her leash, she used her snout to goose me along.

  When the ceremony was over and the guests were milling around, I snuck away for a quiet stroll. The Hudson River sparkled in the distance. The freshly mowed grass of the expansive lawn grew lush and green, even this late in the fall. A mild breeze kicked up that green smell of cut grass. I slipped off my party shoes and climbed a small knoll for a better view. At the crest a pitted stone bench rewarded me with a place to sit and a spectacular view of the winding river dotted with sailboats. Mother Nature always puts on a show, if only we take the time to stop and look. Puffy clouds like mounds of whipped cream floated across the blue sky.