yard boasted a cracked concrete slab patio with a sad looking picnic table. I took a seat, wishing that a) I had one of those new cell phones, and b) if I had one, that there was coverage in Queen Anne County.
Techs bustled passed me into the kitchen, carrying cases of equipment, several giving me curious looks as they passed.
After a few moments, I heard a crash from the kitchen, a high-pitched yelp, and someone barking, “God DAMN it!”
Curiosity got the better of me. I went to the screen door and looked in. One tech was on his back on the floor and another was in a kitchen chair holding onto his ankle.
“It BIT me!” moaned the tech in the chair. “I’m gonna have to get rabies shots!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I told him through the screen. “I’m sure Rose kept Paco’s shots up to date. Call Doc Harding and ask her.”
The tech on the floor was on his knees now, rubbing his backside. “What did I slip on?”
“That was probably the dog vomit,” I suggested helpfully. “I wanted to clean it up, but Investigator Dawson wouldn’t let me.”
Luther came to the screen. “Miz Rayburn, if you don’t mind…”
“Tell you what,” I interrupted him. “I saw a dog carrier in the pantry. Why don’t I crate Paco and take him back to my place? You can come question me there. That should get Paco out of your hair and prevent any more unfortunate incidents.”
Luther gave me a hard look, and after an uncomfortable pause, he gave a long-suffering sigh and held the screen open. “The carrier and the dog, and don’t touch anything else.”
I entered the kitchen and went to the pantry, where I pulled the little carrier out from below the shelves. I noticed the bag of kibble and pulled it out as well.
“Luther,” I called over to him, “I’ll need the dog food too, and where’s a leash?”
Turning, I saw a leash and a small harness hanging from a hook on the wall. “That,” I said.
Luther had been talking to one of the techs, something technical about blood and fibers, and turned to me with a sigh. “Sure,” he said. He handed me the leash and harness. The harness looked too small to fit even Tough Stuff.
“Where’s Paco?” I asked.
The tech who got bit pointed toward the living room. “He ran that way.”
“Grady, you go with her,” Luther told him.
I went into the living roo m, with Grady limping behind me . “You should put some hydrogen peroxide on that,” I told him.
The tech who’d slipped called after us, “That thing needs to be put down.”
“Aw hell,” Grady called back to him. “You startled him when you fell is all. This is his house and all these strange people and then you go crashing down. He was defending himself, poor little feller.”
I was silently relieved that the tech with the most reason to file a complaint against Paco was taking that attitude. And speaking of Paco, where was he? If he came this way, he must be in the living room. I opened the carrier and placed it in the middle of the living room floor, and Grady and I proceeded to search.
We found him eventually behind the sofa. Grady bravely pulled the sofa away from the wall and moved toward Paco, who dashed around the other side, where I snatched him up quickly and popped him into the crate.
“Allll-right!” Grady said admiringly, offering me a palm to slap.
“Nothing to it,” I said mode stly, slapping his palm . “I’ve crated a lot of cats and they’re much more flexible. They can twist and turn like little dervishes. Dogs are child’s play by comparison.”
I hoisted the carrier, which rocked and shuddered as Paco raced around inside looking for a way out. Going back through the kitchen, I saw the stretcher and body bag were here.
“I’ll just head on out then,” I told Luther.
“Straight home and stay there!” he said.
“Yes, mother,” I replied meekly, and made my escape.
I put the carrier on the passenger seat and headed out. Even if I’d wanted to disobey Luther
Techs bustled passed me into the kitchen, carrying cases of equipment, several giving me curious looks as they passed.
After a few moments, I heard a crash from the kitchen, a high-pitched yelp, and someone barking, “God DAMN it!”
Curiosity got the better of me. I went to the screen door and looked in. One tech was on his back on the floor and another was in a kitchen chair holding onto his ankle.
“It BIT me!” moaned the tech in the chair. “I’m gonna have to get rabies shots!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I told him through the screen. “I’m sure Rose kept Paco’s shots up to date. Call Doc Harding and ask her.”
The tech on the floor was on his knees now, rubbing his backside. “What did I slip on?”
“That was probably the dog vomit,” I suggested helpfully. “I wanted to clean it up, but Investigator Dawson wouldn’t let me.”
Luther came to the screen. “Miz Rayburn, if you don’t mind…”
“Tell you what,” I interrupted him. “I saw a dog carrier in the pantry. Why don’t I crate Paco and take him back to my place? You can come question me there. That should get Paco out of your hair and prevent any more unfortunate incidents.”
Luther gave me a hard look, and after an uncomfortable pause, he gave a long-suffering sigh and held the screen open. “The carrier and the dog, and don’t touch anything else.”
I entered the kitchen and went to the pantry, where I pulled the little carrier out from below the shelves. I noticed the bag of kibble and pulled it out as well.
“Luther,” I called over to him, “I’ll need the dog food too, and where’s a leash?”
Turning, I saw a leash and a small harness hanging from a hook on the wall. “That,” I said.
Luther had been talking to one of the techs, something technical about blood and fibers, and turned to me with a sigh. “Sure,” he said. He handed me the leash and harness. The harness looked too small to fit even Tough Stuff.
“Where’s Paco?” I asked.
The tech who got bit pointed toward the living room. “He ran that way.”
“Grady, you go with her,” Luther told him.
I went into the living roo m, with Grady limping behind me . “You should put some hydrogen peroxide on that,” I told him.
The tech who’d slipped called after us, “That thing needs to be put down.”
“Aw hell,” Grady called back to him. “You startled him when you fell is all. This is his house and all these strange people and then you go crashing down. He was defending himself, poor little feller.”
I was silently relieved that the tech with the most reason to file a complaint against Paco was taking that attitude. And speaking of Paco, where was he? If he came this way, he must be in the living room. I opened the carrier and placed it in the middle of the living room floor, and Grady and I proceeded to search.
We found him eventually behind the sofa. Grady bravely pulled the sofa away from the wall and moved toward Paco, who dashed around the other side, where I snatched him up quickly and popped him into the crate.
“Allll-right!” Grady said admiringly, offering me a palm to slap.
“Nothing to it,” I said mode stly, slapping his palm . “I’ve crated a lot of cats and they’re much more flexible. They can twist and turn like little dervishes. Dogs are child’s play by comparison.”
I hoisted the carrier, which rocked and shuddered as Paco raced around inside looking for a way out. Going back through the kitchen, I saw the stretcher and body bag were here.
“I’ll just head on out then,” I told Luther.
“Straight home and stay there!” he said.
“Yes, mother,” I replied meekly, and made my escape.
I put the carrier on the passenger seat and headed out. Even if I’d wanted to disobey Luther
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