Bobbie figured that would be okay. Friday was normally a busy prep day, but she could go in early, then Melo could keep things under control for an hour or two while she was gone. Besides, given another opportunity to see Buck? That was a no-brainer. She wasn’t going to pass that up.
“Works for me,” Bobbie responded.
Buck readily agreed. “Me, too. What time?”
“Two?” the chief sent back.
“See you then.”
Bobbie preceded the brothers up to the road, her arms full of little Reyghan, and now that the excitement had died down, her mind went back to the earlier conversations she’d had with both Buck and the chief.
Buck had given up his school money for her. He’d paid off her boat loss and the hardware store damages even though he hadn’t been responsible. She glanced back to where the man was now murmuring comfortingly to the little white dog he held.
Buck was something else; a wonderful man and a nurturer. She’d screwed up and completely misjudged him. Well, she’d beenledto misjudge him by her brothers, but it still hurt to know she’d done it.
Now, to figure out if it really was her brothers who’d done the crimes.
Once Bobbie and Buck’s conversation with the chief was wrapped up, she’d have more facts, but from her standpoint, there was no one else who could be guilty except her two siblings. Drew and Jeff were clearly the rotten apples here. They’d deliberately scuttled her boat, left incriminating evidence in the hardware store to implicate Buck, then pocketed Buck’s hard-earned money afterward, leaving her in the dark.
The audacity of the pair was enraging.
And to make matters worse, they’d then—with utter contempt disguised as magnanimity—lenther a small amount of money for a new boat, after which they’d co-signed a loan for the balance which had left her tapped for a long time. She’d only finished paying off theSmall Dreamlast year.
Not only that, the pricks had eventually done the same for her business; making her indebted to themandthe bank, for frigging ever.
God knows what would have happened ifRoberto’s Cateringhadn’t been such a success. As it was, it took her until six months ago to amass enough money to move out of her dysfunctional family homestead; a place of hell for every one of the fifteen years that Buck had been gone.
Her siblings owed her now, big time.
The question was, how did she move forward with this? How could she make sure Buck didn’t go ballistic once the chief revealed all the facts, and that Buck didn’t do something awful that would end up getting his ass thrown in jail?
Maybe…
Yup.It might be best to have a preemptory conversation with his brothers. In the vet’s waiting room perhaps, if she could finagle being alone with them. Especially helpful might be that Mason was an officer of the law, and could steer them into the best way to move forward without putting themselves in legal trouble. Armed with facts, maybe Mason and Spencer—when Buck finally joined the conversation—could keep him from flying off the handle.
Her mind made up, she sat back and waited to find the perfect time.
Bobbie was quiet in the van driving to the clinic. Reyghan, on her back, had fallen asleep in Bobbie’s lap, all four legs in the air. It looked like a damned uncomfortable position, but what did she know? The pup was out like a light. Maybe the baby was finally worn out from her traumatic morning.
The discussion amongst the brothers on the short journey was all speculation on how the tiny canines had come to be thrown in the river. Everyone’s best guess was that a rogue puppy-mill, hidden somewhere in the back-country up north, was responsible.
The Sothard sibs threw possible scenarios back and forth, and the one that made the most sense was that the perpetrator ran an illegal breeding operation, then got rid of any “product” that were either runts, like Reyghan and the dachshund, or proved to be “mistakes”; mixed breeds that couldn’t be sold off as purebreds, which would account for Duck, and Buck’s little white poodle-mix.
Shortly thereafter, with everyone seething that the breeder would be brought to justice, Buck pulled up to the vet where there was a sign out that read, “closed”. But the door opened and an older woman’s friendly face poked out.
“Come in, come in. I’m Doctor Katze,” she greeted as they emerged from the van, pointing to a plaque on the siding with her name on it.
Seriously? That was so cool. The name she’d given was spelled, “Katze”, but was pronounced “cats”. Bobbie wondered if the woman had decided at an early age to go where her name led her.
Dr. Katze was still talking. “The chief filled me in and said you were on your way,” she tsked. “I can’t believe anyone would dump a load of puppies like that.” Her displeasure was evident in her words, but not in her demeanor or posture as she reached out and patted each bedraggled beast. Bobbie speculated that she purposely didn’t exhibit negative emotions in front of her four-legged clients in order to keep them calm.
Immediately, Bobbie knew that this woman would be her vet from here on in.
“Let’s get them inside. They all seem lively enough.” The vet backed up and the four of them with their precious cargo trooped in.
“This one was unresponsive when we opened the suitcase,” Buck said, lifting the white dog up for inspection. “But I gave him CPR and he came back to life pretty quickly.”
“Let’s check him out first, then,” Dr. Katze responded, all business. “The rest of you have a seat in the waiting room.”
