An Embarrassment of Itches Read online

  Come to think of it, I didn’t have any friends like that.

  I glanced behind me down toward the barn, hoping to see movement there. A small herd of horses gathered around the paddock gate. If Amanda had already fed them, they would have drifted back out to the pastures to graze. The delay mildly annoyed me. Where the heck was Amanda?

  Wherever she was, it was too cold to stand around waiting for her without a coat. I left my bag on the front porch and went back to the car. Maybe she was down at the barn and she didn't know I was here. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and sent her a text.

  I'm here with Ming's medication. Where are you?

  Snowflakes flurried down out of the sky. The ground was too warm for it to stick, but between the snow and the wind, I was freezing. I opened the back door of the car to get my coat. Remy was on his feet, tail wagging, ears at half-mast, and tongue hanging out in a gleeful grin.

  “Move.” I shoved past him. “You're not getting out.”

  I leaned around him to grab my parka, but the hood hung on the gearshift. As I was trying to free it, Remy suddenly knocked me aside on his way out the car. Major never would have left the car without permission. He’d been an obedience champion. He’d gotten his CDX—Companion Dog Excellent—title before I retired him from the show ring.

  Remy’s training left a lot to be desired. My fault, I know. But after working with other people's dogs all day long, sometimes it was hard to come home and train my own. Come to think of it, before my mother retired, she’d been a schoolteacher. That explained a lot about her child-rearing methods. I suddenly got a much better picture of why she was the way she was, and it made me shudder to think I might be following in her footsteps.

  “Remy!” I bellowed. But it was too late. I saw the flash of a cream and chocolate colored cat dash around the corner of the house with Remy in hot pursuit.

  Ming was out of the house!

  No wonder Amanda didn’t answer the door. She must be out looking for him. God only knows what would happen if Remy caught up with the ancient Siamese. Either Remy would lose an eyeball, or the poor old cat would have a stroke because of his thyroid disease. Abandoning my coat, I ran after my dog, shouting his name and the command, “Leave it!”

  I rounded the corner of the house and stopped in cold in my tracks.

  Ming stood in the center of a picnic table with his back arched like a Halloween cat and his tail puffed out to twice its normal size while Remy barked cheerfully at him. Remy’s hackles were up, but arousal is not the same as aggression. I could tell by the way he bounced in and out of the cat’s reach that he thought this all a terrific game.

  I needed to break it up, however. Ming looked sufficiently pissed that he would hurt Remy if he could. I was moving forward when something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.

  In an optimistic gesture for March, Amanda had already taken the cover off her swimming pool. Since it was heated, I might have done the same. It was one of those infinity designs, with the water spilling out over the far edge into a waterfall that then recycled back into the main pool. From the back of the house, it had the effect of appearing as if you were swimming out into the skyline. I’d taught Remy to swim in this pool, even as I’d worried about him getting too close to the far end. Steam rose off the water in lazy curls as the snow swirled down, and later I remembered thinking how bracing the contrast between the warm water and cold air must be. But my brain must have shorted out as I tried to process what I was looking at.

  There was something near the bottom of the pool. A bundle of clothes? Some garbage that had blown in with the wind? I couldn’t quite understand what I was seeing.

  Until suddenly, I did.

  No. Not a bag of clothes.

  There’s a lot they don’t teach you in vet school.

  Discovering the body of your friend at the bottom of her swimming pool was one of them.

  Chapter Two

  Time stopped.

  At least, that's what it felt like. I don't know how long I stood there staring at the pool. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds. It could have been all of eternity.

  Suddenly, I was moving. Without clear thought, but with definite direction.

  I toed off my boots at the edge of the pool and dived in. I'm not a strong swimmer, and I broke the surface gasping for breath before I reached the deep end of the pool. Once there, I had to cling to the side and suck wind for a moment. The water was pleasantly warm. Every inch of exposed skin above the surface felt as though it was being seared off by the icy wind. The temptation to sink beneath the surface and not rise was strong.

  Less than a foot away from me a pathetic little pile of items sat. A pair of shoes neatly lined up facing the pool. A wristwatch draped across the shoes. Nothing else, no socks, not even a ring. Just a pair of shoes and watch. As though they were waiting for their owner to return from a dip.

  I took a deep breath and dived for the bottom of the pool. It was deeper than I had expected, and my ears popped with a change in pressure. By the time that my fingers brushed the cloth of Amanda's jacket, my lungs burned for air again.

  Desperation drove me to dig my fingers into the jacket, and I twisted and kicked my way towards the surface, trying to pull Amanda behind me. I only managed to get her part way to the surface before I had to let go and scrabble to break through the water. Whooping in great gasps of air, I watched as her body rotated and slowly sank once more.

  She was dead. There was no way she could be alive.

  Drowning victims sink once their lungs fill with water. Sure, they’ll rise again later, once decomposition sets in and releases gases, but that doesn’t happen right away. All those fictional bodies you see in the movies, conveniently floating face down within easy reach? An actor holding his or her breath.

  Even underwater, once I’d seen her eyes, I knew she was gone. That she had been gone for some time. The cloudy surface of her corneas was a dead giveaway.

  A massive splash beside me sent a sheet of water cascading over my head. Startled, I lost grip on the edge of the pool and sucked in a mouthful of water as I flailed about. Choking and coughing, I couldn’t even maintain a dog paddle, and a moment of panic overtook me.

  But then Remy thrust his head underneath my hand, and I reflexively grabbed his collar. With long, sure strokes, he swam for the shallow end of the pool, dragging me behind him.

  It was a game we had played when I taught him how to swim the previous summer. When I had first introduced him to the water, he was dangerous to everyone else in the pool. Until he figured out the mechanism of swimming, he tried to walk on top of the water and would climb up any person nearby. A ninety-pound dog trying to perch on your shoulders was a good way to accidentally drown, so I would go into the pool and call him to me while giving the command “rescue.” Remy had learned to swim a circle around the “victim,” who would grab his collar and be towed to safety.

  He thought I was playing, but I accepted the ride with gratitude anyway. When we reached the shallow end of the pool, I dragged myself up the stairs, water pouring off my clothes that now seemed to weigh a ton.

  In the short time that I'd been in the water, the flurries had turned to sleet. Ice crystals bounced off the outdoor furniture and tinkled on the tiled lip of the pool. I reached for my phone only to realize with dismay I'd never taken it out of my pocket, and now it was soaking wet. With shaking fingers, I took it out of the case and attempted to dial 911. I had to report Amanda’s death.

  No joy. A dead screen stared back at me, no matter how much I left streaky wet smears on the surface.

  With cell reception being iffy up in the mountains, I knew Amanda still had a landline. Walking to the back door near the pool in waterlogged clothing was like trying to move through molasses. Isolated from the warmth of the heated pool, the frigid air penetrated my very bones. I couldn't remember ever being so cold in my life. My teeth chattered as I fumbled with the latch to the sliding glass door on t
he back of the house. Beside me, Remy leapt about in excitement, thrilled by the unexpected game and not at all fazed by the cold.

  When I pushed back the sliding door, a blur of chocolate and cream dashed past me into the house. Remy would have followed, only I grabbed him by the collar.

  “You wait here,” I stuttered, and squeezed my way through the narrow gap in the doors inside, shutting the door in his face.

  A very woebegone Shepherd looked at me through the glass. It couldn't be helped.

  On the couch, Ming narrowed his slightly crossed blue eyes and licked his damp fur furiously.

  I squelched my way across the thick carpet to the downstairs bar. It contained a nice selection of scotch and wine, but no phone. The only landline I could remember was upstairs in the kitchen.

  Leaving a trail of water all the way up the stairs, I opened the door to the kitchen. It looked much the way it always did. I could almost imagine Amanda coming in from the living room with a smile to offer me a cup of tea. The realization she would never do that again punched me in the chest like a sledgehammer, but I made my way toward the avocado green phone hanging on the wall.

  By the time the 911 operator answered, my teeth were chattering so badly I almost couldn't speak.

  “911. What is the nature of your emergency?” The operator sounded calm and collected, exactly as you would expect from someone whose job was taking in bad news.

  That settled me a bit. “My name is Dr. Ginny Reese. I'm a house-call veterinarian.” I gave her Amanda's address. “I came here this morning to drop off medication for Amanda Kelly's cat. I found Ms. Kelly drowned in her swimming pool.”

  At least, that's what I thought I said. My voice broke and cracked and, at times, gave away entirely. Numb lips refused to form proper words. The operator asked me to repeat myself. Stuttering the entire time, I finally got the information out.

  “We’ll send someone right away. Please stay on the line until the Sheriff's department arrives.”

  I left the receiver dangling from its cord. I could hear squawking noises coming from the phone, much in the muffled manner of the adults speaking in a Charlie Brown cartoon.

  I was freezing. I had to get warm. The danger of hypothermia was real. There was also the fact that Remy was loose outside. If I didn't get him back in the car soon, at best he would interfere with the deputies when they arrived; at worst, he would go down to the barn and harass the horses. I didn’t need him getting kicked in the head on top of everything else this morning.

  As I walked through the kitchen, I noted the corkscrew sitting alongside a half empty bottle of Merlot. No glasses, which struck me as odd. But then everything about this day had been odd so far. Perhaps Amanda had poured herself a glass and taken it into the living room. Unlike my own kitchen, everything had been cleaned and neatly put away, except for the wine. No kettle on the stove. No signs that breakfast had been made.

  Leaving wet prints in my wake, I went out the front door. I left it standing open behind me. I know I wasn't thinking clearly just then, but for the life of me I couldn't do anything differently. I felt as though I were Anna in Frozen, touched by frost and slowly turning into ice.

  Stumbling a little, I reached my car. You never knew what kind of gross filth you might encounter as a house-call vet, so I made a habit of carrying a spare set of clothing. Given how negatively an animal might react to the scent of another upset animal on your clothing, it paid to be able to change when needed.

  The plastic trunk that contained my clothing was in the back of the car with the other storage tubs. Unfortunately, I had never refilled it after the last time I needed to use it, and what remained was a hodgepodge of odds and ends. A heavy sweater, but no turtleneck to go underneath of it. A pair of jeans but no socks. No bra or underwear either. Where were my boots? I opened and closed containers, shoving them around angrily until I remembered. Oh. Right. They were down by the pool.

  I had to get out of my wet clothes before my brain shut down entirely.

  The attempt to pull the soaked sweater over my head turned into a battle as I struggled to extract my arms from sleeves that didn’t want to let go. I dropped it on the ground and my turtleneck and bra soon followed with a wet splat. I sat on the edge of the open hatch to tug off my socks and shimmied with difficulty out of my jeans. The cream cable-knit sweater from my trunk was definitely a backup option I rarely wore because it showed dirt and dog hair so badly. I scrubbed my legs with an old towel I found in the backseat. It wasn't very clean, and it, too, had its share of dog hair, but just then I wasn't picky.

  The spare pair of jeans was another story altogether. I'm sure at one time they fit. They were my jeans, after all. But whether it was because my legs were still damp or because I had gained weight since the last time I put them on, I’d had less difficulty donning a pair of skintight surgical gloves. By dint of leaning back into the car and stretching my legs in front of me, I could pull them up over my hips and zip them closed.

  Damp skin. It was definitely because of my clammy, damp skin.

  Out of habit, I placed my useless cell phone in my back pocket. I’d just closed the back-hatch car when Remy came barreling around the corner of the house, his tongue lolling in a cheerful grin. In his mind, we were having the best day ever. He galloped toward me, and I knelt to embrace him in a fierce hug. It mattered not that he was still soaking wet. He was there, and I needed the contact.

  I took hold of his collar just the same.

  “Into the car with you.”

  I toweled him off and closed the rear door behind him. When I started the engine, the radio came on loud enough to make me wince as the speakers blasted a song that had been popular when I was in high school. I shut it off and cranked the heat as high as it would go, shivering violently as I held my hands in front of the vent. As I did so, I heard a car coming up the drive. Two SUVs, actually. Both from the Sheriff's Department and sweeping up the curbing paved driveway at a good clip. It made me glad that Remy was safe in the car.

  The shiny vehicles came to a stop behind me. Gone were the dull brown cars I remembered from high school. The Law had arrived in the form of stark white SUVs, with the county name and SHERIFF in bold blue letters. The doors opened on the lead car, and I recognized Deputies Holly Walsh and her partner, Frank Talbot, as they got out of the car together. It did not surprise me to see them. Holly and Frank were usually first on the scene whether you were dealing with a drunk from Lucky's Bar in town, a parking violation on Main Street, or hijinks from the high school kids on Prom Night. I'm sure they could handle more serious crimes and misdemeanors, but aside from the occasional domestic disturbance or drug-related arrest, crime took a leisurely tour through Greenbrier.

  Seeing them was both reassuring and disconcerting. Somehow, I felt Amanda's death deserved more than the attention it would probably receive from these two.

  I didn't have a clear view of the second SUV. It wasn't until the driver came around the back of the lead vehicle that I saw who it was for the first time.

  You have got to be kidding me.

  The man walking forward in the brown deputy’s uniform, which fit his lean physique like a tailored suit, was none other than Joe Donegan, my high school boyfriend. Though twenty years had passed since I had seen him last, there was no mistaking him. He had the same black hair in wild disarray. The same suggestion of a perpetual five o’clock shadow. Same hazel eyes that could never decide if they were green or brown. The same lean runner's body that had made him a track star in high school. Would he have the same lazy smile that declared his charm to anyone within a half-mile radius? I wondered.

  What the hell was he doing back in Greenbrier? He left the town—and me, for that matter—years ago, making it clear he couldn't wait to shake the dust off his feet. Now he walked toward me, sheriff's hat in his hand, with his eyes narrowed as though he wasn't certain of his reception.

  Damn straight, he shouldn’t be sure. I wasn’t the fair damsel needing to be r
escued from the fire-breathing dragon.

  Now I was the dragon.

  And he was The One That Got Away.

  Chapter Three

  Things seem to move rapidly after that. Or at least, everyone around me did. I couldn't tell if I was the one moving in slow motion or if everybody else was running on fast forward. I suspect the problem was with me. Even the simplest sentences seemed to take me forever to process.

  I got out of the car and shut the door before Remy could join me. My bare feet were like blocks of ice that might break off at any moment, and even standing on the cold asphalt felt like torture.

  Deputy Holly reached me first.

  “You okay, Doc?” Her obvious concern made me blink back tears. “Where are your shoes?”

  Swallowing hard, I nodded first and then shook my head. Focus. What was she asking again? Oh. Right. Shoes.

  “I think they’re around back.”

  “What seems to be the problem?” Frank strode forward like a pouter pigeon, doing his best to sound authoritative but somehow coming off bored instead. Even at the best of times, Frank wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

  It pissed me off.

  “Did you even listen to the dispatcher?” My voice shook with either anger or cold. It was hard to tell. “Amanda is dead. She's in the pool.”

  Frank exchanged a look with Holly that somehow conveyed doubt that I was telling the truth. That I must have made some sort of mistake. That I was overreacting.

  Joe picked this moment to join the party.

  “Why don't you go check out the back, Frank?” he said, dismissing Frank without a second glance. That he reserved for me, giving me a look of narrow-eyed assessment before turning to Holly. “Do you have a blanket in the car, Holly? A spare pair of socks or a thermos of coffee? Anything hot. She looks like she's going into hypothermic shock.”