Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(8)
Max remains convinced that this is the same cat from their yard back home, and she gave up trying to argue with him. In five-year-old logic, it makes about as much sense that a cat would find its way on foot across the state and wind up precisely in their path—well off the beaten one—as it does that there would be identical pregnant cats living four hundred miles apart.
Bella hits the brakes as the navigational system’s robotic voice announces, “Arriving . . . at . . . destination.”
Looking around for a medical facility, she sees nothing but woods. “Where is it?” she wonders aloud.
“We don’t know,” Max replies, and she notes that somehow, in the space of fifteen minutes, he and the cat seem to have transformed into a “we.”
Off to the side of the road, she spots a tiny wooden sign alongside a barely discernible dirt lane leading through the trees.
Lakeview Animal Hospital and Rescue
After a moment’s hesitation, she turns the car in that direction and they bump-rattle along until they reach a small clapboard structure. It’s not a house, exactly, though it has a pitched roof and a low concrete stoop with a silver wrought iron railing. It’s more like a cross between a cottage and a shed.
Getting out of the car, she notes that the air feels markedly cooler, and the maple leaves overhead are stirring, turning over. She’d better make this quick, then find the campsite before the sky opens up. The service station can wait until morning.
She grabs a hoodie from the front seat. Emblazoned with a New York Yankees logo, it was Sam’s. He left it on the bed before his final trip to the hospital.
Even now, her husband’s familiar scent seems to envelop her as she throws it on.
It’s going to be okay, she reminds herself. You’ve got this. One thing at a time: cat, then campsite, then car . . .
She cautiously opens the back door. “Don’t you run away, kitty. We don’t have time to chase you down.”
Lounging across Max’s lap as he strokes her fat, furry belly with its double row of fat pink nipples, the cat offers Bella a languid stare as if to say, Don’t worry, darling. I wouldn’t dream of it.
No amount of coaxing will get the animal out of the car. Bella is forced to gently drag her across the seat and carry her onto the small porch, trailed by Max.
He tries to open the door for them as she shifts the squirming cat in her arms. “It’s locked.”
“Turn the knob harder. Maybe the other direction.”
He tries. Nope. “What does that sign say, Mommy?”
“It says they closed at five. But there’s a light on in there, and the vet answered the phone when we called. Can you knock, please, sweetie?”
He does, timidly and then louder, at her urging, as the cat somersaults in her arms.
At last, movement from within. A man in a lab coat opens the door. He’s tall, with brown hair, broad shoulders, and brown eyes behind a pair of glasses.
“I . . . I’m Isabella Jordan.” Her voice cracks a bit. “I called a few minutes ago. Are you the person I talked to?”
“Yes. I’m Doctor Bailey.” His scrutiny flicks from her to Max to the cat and settles on Max again. “And you are?”
“I’m Max, and this is—”
“No need for animal introductions, Max,” he cuts in brusquely. “I see you’ve brought your pet pig, Penelope, for her daily weigh-in.”
Startled, Bella double-takes on the man’s gaze and spots a gleam amid the sternness.
“She isn’t a pig,” Max contradicts, “and she isn’t a duck either, even though my mom thought she was.”
“Young man, I don’t know who you’re trying to fool, but I believe I’m the animal expert here, and I know a pig when I see one.” Doctor Bailey is deadpan.
“She’s a cat!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! Plus she’s got more cats in her belly.”
“Is that so? Then it appears you’re the expert here. What should we do next? Have a look at her?”
“Yes!”
“All right, come on in, and can you please be sure to lock the door behind you, Max? Otherwise, we’ll have all kinds of critters trying to sneak past reception now that my assistant is gone for the day. I hate when that happens.”
“Does that really happen?” Max whispers to Bella, wide-eyed, as they follow Doctor Bailey over the threshold.
He answers the question before Bella can: “All the time, Max. I used to leave a clipboard on the desk overnight with the paperwork so that they could sign themselves in properly. The cats were very efficient, as were the unicorns, but the kangaroos were too jumpy, and the skunks . . . don’t even get me started on the skunks.” He pinches his nose with his fingers, and Max laughs. Bella finds herself smiling, too.
The waiting room is small, with a creaky wooden floor covered in a threadbare runner. The reception desk is slightly battered, with papers stacked tidily on its top and a wooden chair neatly rolled beneath it. The only other furniture in the room is a park bench with a wooden slatted seat and wrought iron arms. Above it is a bulletin board topped by a sign that reads, Happy Tails, and is covered in photos of smiling people clutching furry creatures.
Definitely not a sophisticated operation, but a friendly one.