Finding Isadora(32)

Toward the end of the afternoon, business tended to be brisk as day-care patients were picked up, and people who worked during the day brought their pets in.

We three vets also took turns making house calls because many of our clients were shut-ins—for reasons of health, disability, or age.

The great thing about rotating schedules was that each of us vets got to know all of our clients, both the animals and the humans. Today, Joachim’s tabby needed worm pills and Peter and Cynthia’s cockatiel had an infection. Mrs. Enderby’s Pekingese had indigestion again, a perennial problem because the childless woman and her husband persisted in feeding the animal treats designed for humans.

And then there were new clients. An adorable Shepherd cross pup who needed spaying, brought in by an equally adorable little boy and his mother. An injured squirrel a jogger had found in Stanley Park, to be patched up and returned to the wild.

My last patient was a two-year-old beagle whose owners, a young gay couple, had just moved to Vancouver and wanted their dog checked over and “his file opened,” as they termed it. The lovely animal had epilepsy, possibly inherited from its parents, and was responding nicely to Phenobarbital, but I reviewed the dog’s diet and suggested some adjustments that would help to prevent liver damage.

It was a busy, productive day, with no life-threatening injuries or illnesses and, thank heavens, no requests for animals to be put down. My mind and hands were kept occupied and, when I began the walk home, I congratulated myself on not fussing about Jimmy Lee—and on barely having thought of Gabriel.

It was too late to be bothered with cooking a real meal, so I picked up pita bread and the ingredients for a Greek salad.

It proved to be the perfect meal, together with a glass of white wine. After, I pulled out my knitting and, not finding anything that grabbed me on TV, watched an episode from a DVD of Noah’s Ark. It, and All Creatures Great and Small, a series based on the James Herriot books of the same name, were old British TV series about country vets. I pretty much had the episodes memorized—and the same with the Herriot books. Still, I never tired of them. They were comfort entertainment, never failing to relax me and make me smile.

I was reading in bed when the phone rang around eleven. I said to Richard, “Caught me in bed with James Herriot again.”

He gave the obligatory chuckle, then said, “It’s just as well we didn’t plan on dinner. A client came in at five o’clock with some urgent work and I’ve been at it ever since.”

We compared notes on our days. When I told him about the beagle, he said, “Dogs get epilepsy?”

“Some species are more prone to it. It’s likely there’s a genetic component.”

“Genetic?”

“Sure. Just like with humans. Some illnesses are hereditary, or genetic make-up can create a predisposition.”

“Hmm.”

We talked a few minutes longer but Richard seemed preoccupied. He must be exhausted after such a long day at the office, so I said, “Go to bed now, sweetheart.”

“Good idea. Love you, Iz.”

“Love you, too.”

* * *

The next morning Grace phoned me at the clinic. “Have you got any stray animals that need a home? Maybe a kitten? Small and cuddly?”

I’d expected her to talk about her concerns about Jimmy Lee, or their strategy for proving his innocence, and it took me a moment to shift gears. Then I frowned in puzzlement. She’d protested—though only half-heartedly—when I’d brought them Woodstock. “I thought you couldn’t take any more.”

“It’s not for us, it’s for Alyssa.”

“Who’s Alyssa?”

“Alyssa McKenzie. She’s the daughter of that poor woman who was injured in the fire at Cosmystiques.”

By now I’d thought that nothing my parents might say or do would surprise me, but this statement rendered me speechless. When I found my voice again I said, “You went to the hospital. I expected that. But how does the kitten come in?”

“As Gabriel said, Cassie McKenzie was unconscious, but her friend, Shawna, was there. Shawna lives in the same building and she was babysitting Alyssa when Cassie went to the lab to do some overtime. Cassie’s a single parent and she wanted to earn extra money because Alyssa’s birthday—her seventh—is coming up. Anyhow, Shawna can’t keep Alyssa.”

I had a horrible feeling that I knew where this rambling story was heading. “The father’s not around?”

“No, not since before Alyssa was born. And there are no other relatives in town. Cassie’s parents are up in Kelowna and she’s estranged from them. Besides, Alyssa shouldn’t be so far away from her mother.”

I closed my eyes and gripped the phone more tightly. “Are you saying you and Jimmy Lee have taken Alyssa?”

“Of course.”

Of course. I raised my free hand and massaged my temples, which had begun to throb. My parents had taken in the daughter of the woman Jimmy Lee was accused of having put in the hospital. I could just imagine how Cassie McKenzie would feel when she regained consciousness.

Was there any hope my parents had at least gone through proper channels? Not likely. I knew what Jimmy Lee thought of the Ministry of Children and Family Development. “Who authorized it?”

“Shawna.” There was a pause and then Grace said, “Well, if we’d gone through the Ministry it never would have happened, would it? The girl would be sent to a foster home. That’s no good. She’s just a child, worried about her mother.”