Kiki had lived in a stately home on the island of Jersey and in a castle in Austria before the age of ten. Unfortunately her parents had always spent money like water in a downhill stream, and had often had to sell each property to increase their dwindling funds before really having time to enjoy the riches of their hard work.
Walking through the gap where she guessed a wooden gate had once swung, Kiki pushed past the overgrown lavender edging the rough flagstone path until she reached the front step.
A dark green-painted front door blocked her entry. Paint peeled off in several places, exposing a light green undercoat. Trying the brass doorknob, she found that, apart from a slight squeak and rattle, it didn’t budge—no matter how many times she twisted and yanked on it.
Leaving the step, she walked to the nearest window and peered through the dirt-glazed glass, making out an orange armchair, circa nineteen-thirties, and a yellow-tiled fireplace. She needed to drop in on the key-holder, who apparently lived close by. Hopefully, she might know of a way to get to this place without having to trample through several fields.
She turned and spotted a large barn, several feet away. Built in grey stone, with surprisingly most of its roof still intact, it looked in better condition than the lodge. Intrigued, she wandered over to the building and dragged open one of its huge wooden doors. A strange sound greeted her when she stepped inside. She paused and listened, but no other sound followed. Pulling a face, she guessed either a family of rats or mice lived in its dusty depths.
Screwing up her nose, she took in the abandoned tractor half hidden beneath a grubby moth-eaten bed sheet, several piles of carelessly stacked wooden boxes, a wicker shopping basket filled with dried flowers and a few scattered farm tools. Nothing very exciting or unexpected.
She returned to the doorway, not in the mood to dance around rodents in order to investigate the dark rooms further in, when the sound came again. This time it sounded strangely familiar.
Kiki paused and frowned. No, it couldn’t be... It wasn’t possible. But she could have sworn it sounded almost like...
The whimpering sound started once more, this time joined by several high-pitched barks.
Ignoring everything but the barking, Kiki rushed across the uneven dirt floor until she found a locked door in the second section of the barn. Staring at the suspiciously shiny new metal chain and lock fixed to it, she searched for something to break the padlock. Her godmother hadn’t visited the place in years, so whatever was inside that room had been put there by someone with no right to be anywhere near the property.
Hurrying over to the collection of tools, she found a lump hammer amongst them. Returning to the door, she lifted up the chain and awkwardly hit the padlock with the heavy hammer, relieved when it gave up its steadfast hold after several hard whacks and bumped to the ground. Luckily, whoever had bought it hadn’t spent money on a decent brand.
Throwing down the hammer, she tugged open the door, instantly overwhelmed by the rancid stench inside. Slamming the door shut again, she sucked in several deep breaths before steeling herself and opening it once more.
Six badly malnourished dogs turned to face her. Two were tied to the wall with frayed old ropes; the other four sat in small tarnished cages not big enough for them to turn around in. All of them stood shaking in a thick layer of their own urine and excrement.
A soft whimpering from the far side of the room caught her attention. Hurrying towards the sound coming from a roughly built enclosure created out of concrete blocks, she peered over the low wall to find three small black and white puppies, barely days old, snuggling into a weary and sick-looking female Papillon.
A horrible realisation dawned on Kiki. An abandoned property, mistreated dogs and a locked door... The whole situation screamed of an illegal puppy farm.
Swallowing sudden nausea, she blinked away the burning sting of tears and forced herself to think. She needed to get help and get it quickly. If this was a secret puppy farm, then whoever was responsible might return soon—and she doubted they would be pleased to discover her there, or to find that she knew their secret.
Alex Morsi pushed open the veterinary practice’s back door, ignoring the angry meows and hisses that promised feline retribution coming from the cat carrier he carried. For once a smile tugged at his lips, but he controlled it, uncomfortable with outward displays of emotions, and preferring to keep his good mood to himself.
‘I don’t believe it!’ A short, dumpy middle-aged woman with tortoiseshell glasses propped on the top of her grey spiky hair stormed into the room. Her eyes fixed on the complaining cat.
‘Morning, Anne,’ he greeted her solemnly.
Anne ignored him and demanded, ‘How did you manage to talk cantankerous old Mr Evans into letting you have his Ronny? I’ve tried for weeks and he’s always refused.’
The urge to grin almost got the better of Alex as his sense of elation bubbled higher. With practised effort, he curtailed it and instead frowned down at his head nurse. ‘I threatened to double his fees if he didn’t hand Ronny over. With his large flock of sheep, he can’t afford the slightest increase.’
‘You’re a cruel but brilliant man,’ Anne declared with awe. ‘You may be blessed with the exotic good looks of a Spanish matador, but you own the mind of a dastardly Irish genius.’
Alex winced at the description, but knew most people thought the same. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t inherited his Spanish father’s colouring and personality—but then his mother had been a volatile Irish redhead who thrived on drama and tragedy, so he figured he’d got the better trade.
‘Allowing this cat to continually mate with the local females is irresponsible,’ he said, moving
