Pushing Up Bluebonnets

Diva was a calico like this little baby and immediately I wanted to take her home. I should have known this would happen once I walked into this place. 'You said her husband got upset when you called HPD?' I asked, trying to stay focused.

'He said it was none of my business.' The doc reached behind her to a cabinet and removed several small packaged syringes. 'When the policeman called me, I figured Kent must have shown him his charming side because he convinced the cop she left on her own. When I checked with the police a week later, I was told an officer had gone out to the house and found no evidence of foul play, but that they'd keep Elizabeth's information on file.'

'Sounds like you did what you could,' I said.

'I suppose, but I'm certain something went very wrong to make her disappear without a word. That's why I put her picture up on that Web site. Excuse me a second.' She took a phone from her lab jacket and used the intercom feature. 'I need someone to feed kittens in treatment one.' Then Messing closed the phone and looked at me. 'I really want to see Elizabeth for myself. I don't care if—'

'As I said, she's heavily sedated and—'

'Where is she?'

'In the neuro ICU at Ben Taub,' I said.

'Thank you. I'll be there tonight and I don't give a damn what they say about visitors.' Messing continued examining the other kittens.

'The best way to help her is by talking to me. I need to know how long you knew her, where she came from, things like that.'

A teenage boy charged into the room holding a measuring cup filled with creamy liquid. He was a taller, masculine version of the dark-haired Dr. Messing. She was too young to have a son this age. Brother, maybe?

'You heated that to ninety degrees, right?' she asked, nodding at the measuring cup.

'Yes,' he answered.

'Cute litter, huh?' she said to him.

The doc held up another blind kitten and he grinned, revealing a mouthful of braces. Then he stroked the tiny head with one long, thin finger. Roberta put the animal back in the box and instructed the teenager to feed— but not overfeed—the litter using the needle-free syringes she provided. He carefully left with the box of kittens and the milk.

Messing looked at her watch. 'You were asking how I knew her. I owned a condo next door to theirs. Elizabeth and I met when we were both getting our mail one day, about a year before she disappeared. I was drawn to her at once. She reminded me of those kittens, of the hundreds of kittens and puppies people abandon at our clinic door. She looked like she needed to be rescued.'

'She was sad? Scared? Worried?'

'All of the above. I invited her into my home and

from then on we had coffee together on my days off. She was the sweetest thing. Polite, quiet, always asking about the animals.'

'Did she ever say anything about extended family or other friends?'

'She said her parents were dead, but that's the most I ever got out of her. She never went into detail about her past—avoided answering me when I asked. The only clue I ever got was when she said she'd had a difficult childhood and Kent promised to fix all that and take care of her.'

'But she regretted her decision?'

Roberta hesitated. 'I think so, but she never uttered a bad word about him. I could see what he was like, though. Controlling, demanding, calling her cell phone every five minutes. I swear the only time she ever left the house was when she came to see me.'

This fits the pattern of someone being abused, I thought. 'Was she afraid to leave home?'

'That was my guess. My practice has brought me in touch with every kind of human behavior—it's not only animals we deal with here, but their owners. I've come to know Kent Dugan's type.'

'And you're absolutely positive she didn't leave on her own?' I said.

'Not absolutely sure. Maybe she got brave one day and made a break for it. Maybe I was wrong to think she'd confide in me if she planned on running off. Or at least say good-bye. God knows I would have helped her get away.'

Time to ask the obvious. 'Any sign of physical abuse?'

'No. I think his abuse was all emotional or mental or whatever the right word is. I dubbed him 'the snake'— to myself, of course. I usually pick an animal counterpart for everyone I get to know. And Elizabeth was no mongoose, unfortunately. More like a pet mouse whose days were limited.'

I wondered what my animal counterpart was—and immediately decided not to ask. 'Has Dugan said anything about his wife since Elizabeth disappeared?'

'I wouldn't know. I moved out of the neighborhood after I adopted two Dobermans. They needed a bigger yard.'

'Can you give me the Dugan address?' I reached in my bag for my BlackBerry.

Roberta's dark eyes grew concerned. 'You won't tell him where she is, will you? He doesn't need to know. He doesn't care about her.'

'But if they're still married, he has a right to know. He's her next of kin.'

Now her eyes flashed with anger. 'I don't give a damn about his rights. He certainly never cared about hers.'

I took a deep breath and decided to tell her the rest. Roberta cared about Elizabeth or JoLynn or whatever her real name was, cared a lot. 'I really need that address. See, the wreck was no accident. Someone tried to kill your friend.'

Buttons suddenly sat up, his old eyes focused on Roberta's face. Her beautiful, dark skin lightened a shade, especially around her lips. When she finally spoke, it was a whisper. 'It was him. I know it was him.' Then Roberta knelt and stroked Buttons, trying to hide the tears welling in her eyes.

'I promise you that a policeman will probably inform Dugan, not me,' I said quietly. 'The husband will know the authorities are on alert. And if it helps, Elizabeth has security and private-duty nurses.'

Roberta looked up at me. 'Don't let Kent Dugan fool you or the cops.' Then she stood and finally gave me the address. I thanked Roberta and gave her my card, then started to leave the way I came in. But before I was out the door to the waiting room, I heard her call, 'I don't know what animal you are yet, Abby. I think you're part bloodhound, though, and that's good.'

16

After I walked out of Oakdale Veterinary Hospital and into the ninety-degree heat, I took out my phone and called Cooper. Apparently he was dealing with a drunk or a druggie, because I could hear curse-laden shouting in the background. He told me he'd call back after he 'straightened out a situation.' His attitude—calm and in control—reminded me of Jeff. Jeff, I thought as I slid behind the wheel, I'll see you soon, thank goodness.

I pulled out into traffic, the air-conditioning blasting away the sweat on my forehead created by the thirty- second trip to my car. I headed for home, even though I wanted very much to go straight to Dugan's address or at least find his phone number and call him. But that wasn't my place. Once I gave Cooper the information, he would decide how to proceed.

Cooper didn't call back until after I'd made it home around five o'clock. I'd stopped at Central Market to pick up dinner—a Mediterranean salad, roast beef for sandwiches and a container of Kalamata olives. I was craving salt and since Jeff will eat any olive on the planet, even if it just fell off a tree, I went with the kind that made my mouth water. Diva checked out what was on the menu once I placed the grocery bags on the counter. Smelling no salmon, she left with an angry swish of her tail.

When the phone rang, I'd been hitting the olives hard and was filling a tall glass with ice water.

'What's going on, Abby?' Cooper asked.