Olivia’s heart nearly stopped. She broke into a run, her legs moving with agonizing slowness over the sand. She dropped to her knees next to her dog.
Haviland was lying on his side. He was utterly still and didn’t even flinch when Olivia put her hand on his chest, nearly crying in relief as it inflated, albeit shallowly, with oxygen.
“What is it? What is it?” she demanded frantically, her fingers exploring his coat for signs of injury. There was no blood. None of his bones felt broken. Nothing indicated why he now lay unconscious in the dark. His collar was also missing.
Having taking several courses on administering canine first aid, Olivia gently peeled open Haviland’s eye. She took in the glazed appearance as though from a great distance, and then parted the poodle’s lips and pulled his tongue free, allowing him to breathe with slightly more ease. It was at that moment she saw a flash of red sticking out beneath Haviland’s front paw.
Stomach churning out of fright and anger, she pulled the piece of paper loose and held it under the light.
“BACK OFF,” it read.
Olivia dropped the note as though it had singed her skin and then shoved it into her back pocket before running as fast as she had ever run back to the house. She grabbed her purse and keys and sped down the hill, backing the Rover over the sand near the cottage until it was only a few feet away from Haviland. She opened the back and, heaving her dog into her arms, laid him down as carefully as she could. She checked once more for signs of breath and then covered his body with a blanket.
She did nearly eighty into town, dialing the local vet’s number along the way.
“Hello?” Diane Williamson, doctor of veterinary medicine, croaked. She’d clearly been asleep.
Fighting to keep her voice calm, Olivia explained how she’d found Haviland and that she was on her way to Diane’s office. The vet, who lived in the carriage house behind the converted home where she practiced, reassured Olivia that she would be ready and waiting to receive her patient.
“Thank you.” Olivia’s words came out like a dry sob.
Barely pausing at red lights, Olivia passed slower drivers by crossing the double yellow line, swerved in front of meandering tourists, and even drove on the sidewalk to get around a double-parked convertible filled with teenagers.
Diane was standing in the doorway when Olivia backed into the driveway. The two women lifted Haviland onto a dog gurney and whisked him up the ramp and into the first of two examination rooms.
Olivia stroked Haviland’s head while Diane listened to his heart. She inspected his eyes and gums and then gently opened Haviland’s mouth wide and sniffed.
“What’s the last thing he ate?” Diane asked.
“A bratwurst,” Olivia answered shamefaced. She knew Diane disapproved of Haviland’s diet. “It wasn’t the sausage ... ?”
“No.” Diane straightened but left one hand on the poodle’s flank. “His mouth smells like ground beef.”
“Then someone else fed him that.” Olivia’s dark blue eyes blazed with a fierce anger. “Has Haviland ... ?” She could barely formulate the thought let alone speak it out loud. “Was he poisoned?”
Diane hesitated and then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. There’s no swelling, unusual redness around the eyes, ears, or skin, and no blistering in the mouth. I believe he’s ingested some kind of sedative. Let me run a few tests to make sure.” She turned away from her patient for a moment and touched Olivia’s shoulder. “Trust me. He’s going to be fine.”
Olivia couldn’t see through the tears. “He’s got to be,” she whispered. “The Captain is ... half of my whole being.”
The vet didn’t respond. She’d already turned her attention back to the poodle. She didn’t waste time asking Olivia to wait outside either, knowing full well she’d refuse.
Exhausted, Olivia perched on the edge of the room’s only chair, watching every brisk and efficient move Diane made, but allowing the professional to work in silence. At some point, though she did not remember doing so, Olivia shut her eyes, leaned her head back against the wall, and fell into a light sleep.
Diane woke her with a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “Haviland is stable. I ran a blood test and found that he did ingest sedatives. Too much for his body weight, but not enough to be fatal. He needs to rest for several hours, but he should make a full recovery and be his charming self in a day or so.”
Olivia pressed her hands over her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured, too weary to infuse her words with the gratitude she felt.
“You should go home and get some rest too,” Diane suggested kindly. “I’ll call you as soon as he’s awake.”
“No. I won’t leave him.”
Diane smiled. “I thought you’d say that.” She pointed at a door in the back of the room. “My office is through there. I’ve put a clean blanket and pillow on the sofa for you. You might as well sleep if you can. That’s all Haviland will be doing.”
Nodding, Olivia walked over to Haviland and stroked the fur behind his right ear. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead and then simply stood there, watching the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. When she finally sank down on the plaid couch in Diane’s office, something crinkled in her back pocket. She pulled out the small square of red paper.
“You have hurt the wrong dog, you bastard,” she hissed. “I’m going to devote every resource, every thought, and every moment of my waking hours
She stared at the note until the typed words blurred into black, beetlelike smudges and the bright red of the paper became the color of vengeance.
Olivia waited until six the next morning to call Rawlings. She’d slept a few fitful hours on Diane’s couch, but it had been enough to allow her to spend the rest of the day in action. She planned to scour the area surrounding the cottage as soon as the light allowed for a detailed search and she wanted the chief and his men on the job too.
Rawlings listened to Olivia recall the events of the previous night and promised to be waiting in her driveway by the time she got home.
“I don’t want you going inside until I check it out,” he ordered.
Olivia complied, asked Diane’s assistant to call the moment Haviland woke up, and drove to Bagels ‘n’ Beans. She requested a coffee and a sesame seed bagel with butter for herself and then placed an order for coffee, pastries, and a lunch tray of assorted sandwiches to be sent to Diane’s office and to the Canine Cottage, the grooming business she owned as well.
“Give them the works,” Olivia told Wheeler, handing him her Visa card. “Chips, cookies, sun tea, all of it. As a matter of fact, I’d like you to do this for them once a week for the rest of the month.”
Wheeler scrutinized his customer’s bloodshot eyes and drawn face and then scanned the length of the store in search of Haviland. “He’s all right then?”
“He will be,” Olivia replied, relieved Wheeler hadn’t asked what had happened. She didn’t want anyone to know that she and Haviland had become victims over the course of the night. She didn’t want the town gossips spreading the tale about town, inviting the interest of the journalists present. Besides, playing the victim was a role she refused to accept.
Rawlings and two of his officers were walking the perimeter of her house when she pulled into the driveway. Olivia handed him the plastic baggie containing the note.
“My fingerprints will be on there,” she said as he drew near. “I don’t think you have mine on file, so I’ll come in and be printed as soon as we’re done here.”
Accepting the bag, Rawlings read the warning and his eyes narrowed. “Why does he feel threatened by you?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Yesterday, I paid brief visits to the other members of the Planning Board, asking them to reject the Cottage Cove proposal until it can be altered to include more green space and the preservation of the Neuse River Park’s cemetery.” Olivia unlocked her front door and stepped aside.
She watched Rawlings draw his gun, his eyes sweeping the kitchen. Without responding to what she’d said, he waved one of his men toward the living room. The third opened the coat closet and peered inside.
