Our clientele is not the average citizen. They usually contact us having done little or no search on their own. Claire and I spend lots of time on the phone or computer, and we often find the animal after a few hours. When that fails, Hero joins the search. My agency is not the only one that searches for lost animals. There are a couple of investigative agencies that offer the service; however, I am the only one that offers the services of a certified search dog.

  “You better get going or you’ll be late picking up the kids,” I told Claire.

  “Yikes,” Claire squeaked as she looked at the clock. She hurried to the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  Chuckling softly, I sat at my desk and pulled up the Johnstons’ information. When I had the living and dining rooms of the house converted into office space, I had left the basic floor plan in place. I wanted to be able to have the space converted back should the need arise. I had closed off the back wall, added a door that led into the rest of the house, and added a half bath off what had been the living room.

  The large front door is directly in the middle where a small hallway had originally divided the two rooms. Now it is one large space. My desk is on the left and Claire’s on the right. We each have two chairs opposite our desks. There is a small sofa and chair near the front window on my side and a small play area for kids on Claire’s side. We don’t have a lot of children come in with their parents, but it does happen occasionally. Also, Claire’s two kids often visit the office.

  Most of the time when children are around, they are more interested in the animals than the toys. Hero has his own dog bed in a corner of the room and my two cats, Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer, Jerrie and Teazer for short, spend most of the day in the office with us. I had a pet door installed that leads to the rest of the house, and all three animals used it frequently.

  The call with Mrs. Johnston went better than I expected. Mrs. Johnston and her husband were both prominent local attorneys. When she hired me, she had been short, abrasive, and had shown no emotional attachment to Mr. Fluffy, who was her twelve-year-old daughter’s cat. I hadn’t been sure if she had actually wanted me to find the cat or not. However, she had insisted I immediately begin the search using Hero, which incurs a much higher fee than just the basic search we offer. I had almost turned her down as we already had Mr. Robertson’s case to work on, but her daughter stood behind her holding a bright pink pet blanket and wearing a distraught look on her face. Needless to say, I took the case.

  “Do you think he…suffered?” Mrs. Johnston asked when I explained I had found Mr. Fluffy. The catch in her voice surprised me so I did what I always do when a client asks that question. I lied.

  “No,” I replied gently.

  “Good. That’s…good.” There was a short pause, and the moment was over. Then she said in her brisk, professional voice. “Thank you for your prompt response.”

  “Mrs. Johnston, I know this is a difficult situation, but I need to know what you would like me to do with the remains.” Claire had told me to use the words ‘difficult situation.’ She said they helped soften the question.

  Another pause. “What are my options?”

  “One, I can return him to you for disposal. Some people like to bury their pets nearby or in a pet cemetery. I can recommend one if you wish. The other option is I can take the remains to be cremated for a fee.”

  In the end, Mrs. Johnston chose cremation. I told her I would send her Mr. Fluffy’s collar and tag along with the invoice and reminded her to contact us if she had any questions. I hung up the phone feeling sad and out of sorts.

  Sometimes I hate my job.

  Chapter 3

  After finalizing the invoice for the Johnstons, I grabbed my microchip scanner and headed back into the kitchen. Hero followed me, but I locked the pet door to keep Jerrie and Teazer in the office. They weren’t happy about that. Both cats have strong personalities, and they rule our home. Hero is actually a little afraid of them. Although they both love to cuddle with the German shepherd, I had no idea how the Great Dane would react to cats. I wasn’t willing to take the chance the stray dog wasn’t as accommodating as mine.

  He was still asleep when I opened the door to the laundry room, but he raised his head and thumped his tail in greeting when I walked in. I knelt beside him, and he licked my hand. I smiled. He was a nice dog.

  “Okay, boy,” I said. “Let’s see if we can find out who you are and where you belong.”

  Many animals are microchipped nowadays. It still isn’t the majority, but the numbers are rising every year. As it’s my job to find lost pets that are often chipped, I had invested in a simple microchip scanner. It wasn’t very expensive and comes in handy. Sometimes the only way to identify the animal was through its chip.

  I ran the scanner across the back of the Great Dane between his shoulder blades, which is the most common placement of a chip. Nothing. I then ran it back down, across the shoulder, and back up toward his head. The chip shouldn’t have been there, but you never know. The scanner beeped, and the screen flashed briefly as I neared his mouth. Then nothing. I frowned, pulled the scanner away from the dog and, for some unknown reason, shook it. Rolling my eyes, I tried again. Same results. The scanner did not read anything on the back of his neck, but when I pulled it up toward his face, it beeped and flashed.

  “Okay, that’s weird,” I said. I looked at the scanner again. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with it.

  “Hero,” I called. The German shepherd appeared in the doorway. I leaned over and ran the scanner across the back of his neck. Immediately the scanner beeped, and Hero’s ID number appeared. “Well, it’s working.”

  When I turned back to the Great Dane, he looked at me a minute and then laid his head back down. I laughed softly.

  “I guess you don’t care. I’ll have Craig check. Maybe his scanner will find something.” I stood, and he raised his head again. “Do you need to go out? Can you get up?”

  He rose slowly and followed me to the back door. Both he and Hero headed outside. My yard is fairly level, and the grass was thick. I watched the Great Dane a moment. He was moving okay but definitely favoring his left leg. It was time to call the vet.

  “Joanie,” I said when the receptionist answered the phone. “It’s Alexandra Prescott.”

  “Hi, Alex. What’s up?”

  “I found this Great Dane who has a knot on his leg, and his mouth is swollen. I was hoping I could bring him by and have Craig look at him.”

  “Sorry, but he’s about to go into surgery. I don’t know how long he’ll be. A cat was hit by a car.” There was a short pause. “It’s bad, Alex.”

  “Damn. That sucks.”

  “Yes, it does,” Joanie said softly. “He can probably see you first thing in the morning.”

  “Okay, put me down.” Craig is willing to treat the animals I find free of charge, but he does so outside his normal business hours, which means he usually has to see me before he opens or after he closes. “Can he talk to me before he goes into surgery?”

  “Hold on. Let me check.”

  Craig Burns is one of the good guys. Nice, clean-cut, caring. He has a little bit of a crush on me. I try not to exploit it too often, but I must admit I do use it to my advantage. Sometimes I’m not a very nice person.

  “Hey, Alex.” Craig’s voice sounded stressed and harried. “Joanie tells me you found an injured dog?”

  I quickly described the symptoms to the vet, who then asked, “Is he putting any weight on the leg?”

  “He isn’t holding it up when he walks, but he’s definitely limping.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it’s broken. What about his mouth? You said he ate something?”

  “He had trouble chewing the dog treats but did better with the soft food. He ate most of what I gave to him.”

  “And he’s drinking water?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, it sounds like he should be fine until tomorrow. Keep an eye on him. If he acts like he’s in pain or if any of the symptoms get worse, take him to the emergency clinic. Otherwise, I’ll see him in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Craig.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re doing, Alex. Just be glad the dog isn’t seriously injured.”

  “Hey,” I said sharply. “If he was seriously injured, I would have already taken him to the clinic.”

  Craig sighed. “I know. Sorry. It’s been a bad day, and I’m afraid it’s about to get worse.”

  The cat must have been in really bad shape. Craig was seldom anything but polite. I fought my conscience for a moment. If Craig was that stressed out, then adding more to his plate wasn’t really fair. The problem was I trusted him and wanted him to be the one to look at the Great Dane. I shook off my guilt.

  “Okay, Craig. Thanks for talking to me.”

  “You know I always enjoy talking to you.” I heard the smile in his voice and felt a little better about interrupting him. “Even if it is just about animals. See you tomorrow.”

  After I disconnected the call, I watched the dogs in the yard for a few minutes. The Great Dane was moving slowly and limping slightly but did not appear to be in any extreme pain. Both he and Hero were dirty. Most of the mud they had picked up from the abandoned property was dried, but it was still caked to their legs and feet. Grimacing, I glanced down at my own shoes and then at the floor. Little bits of dried mud were scattered all around. A little cleaning was in order.

  I started with the Great Dane. He obediently stood still as I washed him down with the water hose. He was obviously a well-trained dog. I was very careful with his leg and mouth but managed to get him mostly clean. As I was drying him off, he licked my face. Laughing, I pulled away; however, he panted a couple of times, which allowed me a quick look at his teeth. His left canine was definitely infected. It looked a little odd—bigger than the other one and appeared to be loose. I didn’t want to prod him too much so I simply gave him one final rub.

  “So what am I going to call you? I can’t keep referring to you as boy or dog. You need a name.” The dog cocked his head quizzically. “How about King Mufasa? You look majestic.”

  My aunt had loved Broadway musicals, and she passed that love on to me. She and her husband had purchased tickets to the Summer Musical Series that occurs in our city each year. They also traveled to New York every Christmas to see various shows.

  The year I met Nora, her husband had died in January. I had only been living with her for a month when she bought me a dress and made me wear it to accompany her to see Cats. I had been resentful and a little angry, but I hadn’t been willing do anything that would cause her to send me away. It took a long time for me to realize there wasn’t anything I could have done that would have made her do that.

  For me, the production of Cats had been magical. At that point in my life, I had only seen a handful of movies. Television had been sporadic. Watching real people sing and dance with elaborate costumes and creative lighting had enchanted me. I became a lifelong fan.

  That was also the day I plucked up the courage to ask Nora for a pet. I had never dared ask my mother for one as we were always on the move and often didn’t have enough food for the two of us much less anyone else. When Nora had asked me what types of pets I had had before, I told her I had only played with the stray animals that inevitably gathered around the cheap apartments where we lived. They were usually sickly and starving. The next day she took me to the local shelter, and I came home with a cat I promptly named Grizabella. Every animal I have named since then was a character from a musical.

  “King Mufasa is a good name, but maybe a little too stuffy for you. How about Scar?” I had recently seen a production of The Lion King. Hero came to sit next to us. He barked once, and the Great Dane licked me again. “No, you’re too sweet for Scar. Okay then, Simba.”

  Now that he was clean, I slipped a simple, light-weight, collar around his neck and used my phone to take a picture. I keep a picture of every live animal I find. The picture frames hang all over the walls of our office.

  I took Simba back inside and got him settled in the laundry room. I then washed Hero and cleaned the mud tracks from the house. By then, it was well after five o’clock. I threw a casserole into the oven and made a quick batch of brownies. I’m a decent cook. My aunt had taught me the basics, and I learned over the years that if you can read a recipe, you can usually produce something eatable. There are a couple of recipes I have gotten pretty good at making. Once the brownies were cool, I put a few in a baggie, grabbed the casserole, and headed next door.

  My neighbor, Harvey Gibson, is an eighty-two-year-old retired marine. Even at his age, he is still built like a tank. He’s tall and strong. In spite of his intimidating appearance, he is one of the sweetest people I have ever met. He has lived in the neighborhood since he got out of the military, and he and my aunt had been friends. He had been there to hold my hand when we laid her to rest.

  At least twice a week, I made dinner for him, and the two of us ate together. I tapped lightly on the back door before reaching for the handle. Harvey only locks his door when he is gone.

  “Harvey,” I called as I stepped into his kitchen.

  “Be there in a minute, Alex,” Harvey replied from the other side of the house. He had recently discovered online gaming. He now spends a great deal of time kicking teenage butt on a couple of the multiplayer websites. Harvey might not be as fast as some of the youngsters are, but he can outthink them all.

  I set the food on the table and was getting two plates from one of the cabinets when I heard someone behind me. I turned with a smile only to be stopped dead in my tracks. It wasn’t Harvey. Instead, it was the biggest mistake of my life.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Simba and I were waiting in the parking lot of the vet’s office when Craig Burns arrived. After a restless night, I had gotten up early, fed the animals, and loaded the Great Dane into my Jeep as soon it was light. I knew I would arrive well before Craig, but the dread of running into the man next door had driven me from my home. The thought that I might be fleeing from him had to be pushed away more than once. By the time I had reached Craig’s office, I had it locked away in the far reaches of my mind.

  Simba was uncomfortable in the vehicle so I was leaning on the Jeep, and he was sitting at my feet when Craig got out of his car. Simba rose and stood in front of me. He didn’t growl, but it was definitely a protective move. That surprised me. I hadn’t thought we had bonded well enough that he would instinctively guard me.

  Craig glanced at me and then shook his head when I started to move to the dog. He walked slowly but confidently toward us. Craig is a nice-looking man. We are about the same height, but he is fair where I am dark. He has blond hair and light blue eyes. He stopped near Simba and waited.

  “Simba, sit,” I said softly. The dog sat.

  “Simba?” Craig asked with a smile. I shrugged. “You do know Simba is a cat name, right?”

  “A lion. A majestic lion,” I replied sharply.

  “Still a cat,” he said laughing softly and then proceeded to make friends with the Great Dane. Craig is really good with animals. You would think that would be a given with someone who was a vet, but I have met quite a few who weren’t.

  “Let’s get him inside so I can examine him.”

  We followed Craig to the building and waited while he unlocked the door and turned on the lights. Craig doesn’t have any partners. He and one other vet switch off covering for each other when one of them takes a vacation. For emergencies outside business hours, there is an excellent clinic in town that only opens after six p.m. and on weekends.

  Craig’s offices are nice but small. He has a reception area with a small sitting room, three examination rooms, his personal office, and a small space in the back for animals recovering from surgery. He led us into an examination room and began looking at Simba’s leg.

  “Not broken, but something is going on. I’ll do an X-ray.” Craig paused and then rubbed his hands across the rest of the dog’s body. “I don’t see or feel anything else.”

  “What about his mouth?” I asked.

  “I can see it’s swollen. Let’s see if he’ll let me look at it.”

  Simba whined a little but allowed the vet to pull back his lip. The area around the tooth was red and puffy. The tooth was also a slightly different color.

  “That’s odd,” Craig said. “It’s an implant.”

  “What?”

  “The tooth,” Craig said stepping away from Simba but continuing to watch him. The dog laid his head down and closed his eyes. “The tooth is an implant.”

  “Really?”

  I had heard of dental implants for dogs but had never known anyone who had the procedure done. When I said as much to Craig, he agreed.

  “They aren’t very common and are fairly expensive. Most dogs don’t usually need one. They do just fine with a missing tooth. I certainly haven’t ever performed an implant. If one of my patients needed one and the owner wanted to have it done, I’d have referred them to a specialist. I do basic cleanings and removals but nothing like this.”

  “It looks infected,” I said.

  “It is. It needs to be removed.”

  “I’ll pay for the X-ray for his leg and the costs associated with the removal of the tooth if you will perform the procedure.” I look at Craig hopefully. I would take Simba to a specialist if needed, but I trusted Craig.

  “Sure,” he said still looking at the dog.

  “Can you try scanning him? My scanner didn’t pick up anything.”

  I told Craig about the odd way the scanner reacted when I ran it near his face. The vet had several different types of scanners. He grabbed one that was different from mine and ran it across the dog’s back. Nothing. When he held it near Simba’s face, the scanner beeped and started continuously flashing. Craig then moved the scanner directly over the infected tooth. The scanner screen flashed all zeros.