Саманта Сильвер - Sleeping With The Fishes

“Well that’s all right, you’re absolutely allowed on the table here,” I told Koby, whose tail wagged even faster as I spoke to him.

“It’s so exciting! Everything is so high from up here! Is this what humans see?” he asked, obviously having a ball. I smiled at the little cutie.

“So what seems to be the problem today?” I asked. “He’s not due for his shots for another four months.”

“No, but I think he might have a bit of an ear infection, or something like that.”

“Ok,” I nodded, looking at his ears. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, he’s been tilting his head a lot more than usual, and shaking himself a lot. Plus it kind of smells funky down there right now.”

I took a whiff and quickly moved my head back. “Yeah, you’re not kidding,” I said, and Kara laughed.

“Sorry.”

I waved off her apology and looked at Koby. “Hey little guy? Is your ear feeling a bit painful lately?”

“You know, now that you mention it, it has!” Koby replied. “Yes, it has been feeling uncomfortable, and sometimes it hurts.”

“Good boy,” I said, giving his body a good pet. “Now, let’s have a look at you.”

A quick physical exam proved that yes, Koby did in fact have an ear infection. Fifteen minutes later Kara and Koby were out the door, the former with a bottle of antibiotics, the latter with so much energy I imagined he was going to need to go on at least a three hour hike before he’d be even remotely tired out.

“That little dog’s a cutie, hey?” Sophie asked with a smile as we watched them leave.

“He is, for sure. So much energy for a dog who’s well into adulthood.”

“How was your wrist during that?” Sophie asked.

“Better than I expected it to be, actually,” I replied. I opened and closed my hand a few times and felt no pain. “I don’t think it’s as bad as it seemed yesterday.”

“Good,” Sophie said. “The sooner you get your magic abilities back, the better.”

“They probably would have come in pretty handy yesterday,” I admitted. “Still, I’m hopeful.”

Before we had a chance to keep talking, our next appointment of the day walked in, a cat named Sequins.

Three hours later we finally got a break, and I felt like I was going to pass out. What had started as a slow day on the schedule turned out to be pretty hectic: on top of the regular scheduled appointments we had one emergency allergic reaction, who was given a Benadryl and looked over for a couple of hours, a broken leg from an elderly dog who was a little bit too enthusiastic about jumping off his owners’ bed that morning, and one lab who had gotten into something he shouldn’t have and needed his stomach pumped.

By the time twelve thirty rolled around I had already missed the first half hour of my lunch break, but at least there was a break–a real break this time–in appointments and I didn’t need to be back at the clinic for an hour, barring some kind of other emergency.

“Do you want me to go get you another coffee and some lunch?” Sophie asked, and I shook my head.

“Thanks, but I think I need to get out of here. If I don’t stretch my legs or something I’m going to pass out,” I said with a smile.

“Cool. I have to run to the bank, I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Chapter 15

Sophie and I went our separate ways down the street as I made my way toward Betty’s. I didn’t even care about getting anything to eat right now; all I wanted was some more caffeine. If Betty could just hook an IV directly between me and her coffee machine, right now I would be all for that.

I walked down Main Street like a zombie. Luckily, I was a zombie that still made my way along the sidewalk instead of wandering into the street, and by the time I reached Betty’s, the fresh air–and the promise of imminent caffeine consumption–made me feel a little bit better.

I passed the A-frame sign out the front which today was advertising chocolate pecan cheesecake slices for only $3 each, when suddenly I stopped.

The sign. That was where I’d seen the writing before. I pulled out my phone, just to be sure I wasn’t being completely paranoid, and opened it up to the photo I’d taken a couple of days earlier from inside Matt Smith’s home. Sure enough, the writing on the threatening letter was identical to the writing on the A-frame board. Whoever wrote this had to be the person who wrote the threat.

I knew it wasn’t Betty; I could bet my own life she would never write a threatening letter to anyone. Entering the café, I was relieved to see that the lunch rush was ending–it was rarely ever that big on a random Tuesday after tourist season anyway–and that there were only a couple of tables that were filled with patrons.

“Hi, Angela,” Betty said to me with a smile from behind the coffee machine. “I heard you had a pretty rough night last night.”

I grinned. “Is it a sign you’re getting old when a rough night means you had a few bad dreams and your cats kept you up?”

Betty laughed. “I don’t think the cause really matters when you feel the same way as if you’d drank a twelve-pack of beer.”

“You got that right,” I told her. “Can I have another double shot latte? Maybe make it vanilla this time? And a BLT, please.”

“Coming right up,” Betty said, and I settled myself in on one of the stools at the counter, eyeing the chocolate pecan cheesecake gluttonously. It was only three dollars today, after all. That reminded me of what I had to do while I was here; now that I knew I couldn’t ignore it. When Betty brought over my latter, I motioned for her to wait.

“Can you have a look at this?” I asked, and then lowered my voice. “It’s a threat that Matt Smith had sent to his home just a few days before he died.”

I showed her the picture, and Betty’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Oh no,” she said softly.

“I didn’t realize where it had come from until I walked past the sign today,” I said.

“We need to go speak with him,” Betty said, motioning to the kitchen. “But be gentle. I think there’s probably an explanation here that doesn’t end with Carson being the murderer.”

I nodded and followed Betty into the back area of the café. Funnily enough, I’d never actually been in the back part of the café, but right now I didn’t focus on the mounds of baking equipment everywhere; I was focused on the shy, skinny teenager carefully pouring icing sugar into a huge bowl that was already filled with cream cheese.

“Excuse me, Carson?” Betty asked, and the teenager looked up expectantly.

“Yes, Mrs. MacMahon?”

“Could you come over here for a minute please? We have something we need to show you.”

“Ok, give me one second, I just need to finish this measurement so I don’t mess it up,” he said, carefully pouring out the right amount of icing sugar before getting up and coming over to where we were, wiping his hands on the apron he was wearing. “What can I do for you?” he asked, his eyes passing from Betty to mine, confusion written all over them. I opened the picture showing the threatening letter, and showed it to him.

As soon as Carson saw the letter, his face went white. I honestly thought he might pass out. To his credit, he didn’t deny anything. “You wrote this,” I said matter-of-factly, and he nodded.

“Please don’t tell my parents,” he begged, his eyes pleading, and I realized in that moment that Betty had been right to tell me to go easy on him. There was no way this boy had actually killed someone.

“Why don’t we sit down over here and talk about this?” Betty asked, motioning to an empty space toward the far end of the room. She grabbed some empty milk crates from under a table and we sat down on them, Betty and I both facing Carson, who looked like he was going to cry.