Pushing Up Bluebonnets

'Listen, Fran,' I said, 'I think Dr. Messing would want to talk to me. Just say the name Elizabeth Dugan.'

'But—'

'You have an intercom or something, I'm sure. Whisper the name if you're afraid of freaking out a Great Dane in the middle of a rabies shot. You'll get your boss's attention.'

I heard a big sigh before she reluctantly put me on hold. I looked at my watch, wondering how long it would take Roberta Messing to pick up the phone.

Thirty seconds later I heard a click and a breathless, 'Elizabeth? Is that you?' Her low, soft voice was filled with urgency.

'Sorry, Dr. Messing, no. My name is Abby Rose and I'm a private investigator. I think I may have found Elizabeth, however.'

'Where is she? Why isn't she calling me instead of a—a private investigator? Is that because something's wrong? Please don't tell me she's—'

'She's injured. In a coma,' I said quickly.

'A coma? Is that where she's been? In a coma for the last year?'

'It's been less than a week,' I said. 'She was in a serious wreck.'

'Oh, no. God, no. Wh-who was driving?'

'She was. No passengers,' I said.

'Will she be okay . . . or does she have some kind of brain damage?'

'The doctors are optimistic. They're keeping her in a medical coma because of the head injury.'

'Did she go through the windshield or—'

'All I know is her car hit a tree,' I said.

'This is unbelievable. Thank goodness you found me. Who hired you? Did that jerk of a husband finally decide to do something about her disappearance?'

Jerk of a husband? Uh-oh. 'I think we need to talk in person.'

A short silence, then Messing said, 'I'm totally booked all afternoon. This is our late office-hours day. But you could come here. I have a little time between patients. Would that work?'

'Works fine for me.'

The feline-entrance waiting room at Oakdale Veterinary Hospital was filled with cats growling, howling or cowering in pet carriers. Cats know what they like and what they don't. I'm sure they believe thermometers up their butts are unnecessary intrusions that cannot be assuaged by the stale, dried-out cat treat offered at the conclusion of this particular humiliation. Yup, all of them knew what was coming.

The receptionist sat in a circular office that could access both waiting rooms—the dogs were on the other side of the building. I introduced myself and this time I didn't get put off.

'Dr. Messing wants you to go right back, Ms. Rose. I'll show you the way.' She hit a button and a door opened to my right.

I went through and a young woman met me in a hallway. She wore scrubs covered with brightly colored cats and dogs playfully chasing one another. My Diva would consider this place anything but playful.

I was led to a small and very messy office. At least the doc had the perfect name.

'I'll go get Dr. Messing.' The girl hurried off.

The only chair not piled with documents or boxes was behind the vet's desk, so I stood and looked at the framed graduation certificate hanging crookedly on the wall—she'd gone to A&M—and took in the computer with its jungle-birds screen saver and the complete and utter disarray emphasized by scattered papers on the desk, granola bar wrappers everywhere and the wilting jumbo-size paper cup of some soft drink from a convenience store. It had completely dampened and smeared whatever document it sat on.

I smiled. Here was a woman after my own heart. But then I started when I felt something brush my leg. I looked down and saw what had to be the oldest, mangiest dog in the universe. He or she had one lower tooth that no longer fit in its mouth and was looking up at me expectantly with round cloudy eyes mostly obscured by floppy hair.

I knelt and the small gray dog's tail began to thump against the wastebasket. I held out my hand for sniffing and a warm pink tongue greeted me instead. Maybe the sniffer didn't work anymore.

'I see Buttons has introduced himself,' a woman behind me said.

I stood and wiped my hand on my shorts before offering it out. 'Abby Rose. I take it you're Dr. Messing?' She was thirtyish, black and makeup free, her long hair braided and beaded. I wondered if she was the woman who'd been cut out of the picture on the Web site.

We shook and then Messing said, 'Let's make it 'Abby' and 'Roberta,' okay? Can I see Elizabeth tonight? She needs to know I'm with her, supporting her.'

'Like I said on the phone, she's in a coma, so I don't think—'

'Never underestimate the unconscious mind, Abby. She'll know I'm there, coma or not.'

'I think it would be wise to wait. I was only allowed in her room to see if I could identify her. The staff is pretty stingy about any time with visitors. They want to keep her calm.'

'Okay, I get that. But why would you be able to identify her? Did you know Elizabeth?'

'It's kind of a long story. But I promise you, when she's able to have people in, I'll call you myself.'

Roberta glanced at her watch. 'I have to examine a litter of kittens someone abandoned at our back door and you can come with me.' She looked down at Buttons. 'You, too, baby. I know how you love kittens.'

'Wait a sec, okay?' I said. 'Let's make sure we're talking about the same person. The Web site photo wasn't the best.' I pulled Richter's family picture from my purse and handed it to her. 'Do you see your friend?'

She pointed immediately to JoLynn. 'That's Elizabeth right there. My God, she—she looks so . . . scared and small.'

For some reason I'd hoped she'd say that JoLynn wasn't her lost friend, that this was all a big mistake. On top of that, I felt immediate sympathy for Elliott Richter. The fact that JoLynn apparently had another name and a past she'd failed to share wouldn't be news he wanted to hear. 'You're sure that's her?' I said.

Roberta took the photo and examined it more closely. 'Of course I'm sure, but who are these other people?'

'The family she's been with,' I said, thinking I didn't want to tell her much before I heard what she had to say. 'I know you're busy and I'm hoping you can tell me everything you know about your friend so I can continue my investigation.'

'Certainly, but those kittens can't wait. Come on.' She passed the picture back to me, turned and left the room.

I took my cue from Buttons and followed. He was pretty spry for a snaggletoothed old dog. We didn't go far and I heard the kittens mewing before we even reached the treatment room. Buttons was on Roberta's heels, his wiggling nose in the air.

A heavyset woman who had the sense to wear plain green rather than animal-print scrubs was holding up one squalling kitten and rubbing its belly with a cloth.

'Someone had to pee really bad,' said the woman. Then she put the tiny tabby to her nose and smiled. The cloth she now held in her free hand bore a telltale yellow stain.

'Good. That means they're probably not dehydrated yet,' said Messing. 'We'll take over here, Mary. I need a fecal on the dog in room five. Can you handle that?'

The woman nodded and left the room like she'd been asked to count the day's receipts and take half the money home. Note to self: No matter how much you love animals, your next job will not be at a vet clinic.

Roberta was already busy examining the kittens, Buttons resting at her feet, when she said, 'Did Kent hire you to find Elizabeth? If he did, I might have to revisit my opinion of that bastard.'

'I assume Kent is the jerk of a husband?' I said.

'Yes. Pretty-boy Kent Dugan, not even concerned enough to file a missing-person report when Elizabeth disappeared. And brother, did he get pissed off when I called the cops.' She picked up the kitten squealing the loudest and rested a finger near the tiny calico's heart.