Part 11 (2/2)
Interestingly enough, according to Gia, Richard had felt the same about him. ”Did Richard tell you about the interview?”
”No. She followed him to the waiting area. It was disgusting the way she fell all over him. Zippy's not special. G.o.d, I hope she filmed Richard's stupid rituals. He was such a fool.”
”Rituals?”
”About six months ago, in San Diego, I overheard him and Gia arguing about Richard's superst.i.tions. Get this-he carried a lucky rabbit's foot like a freakin' kid. He brought a special water dish to every event. The fool even made Zippy walk in six large circles, backwards, two hours before each race. He was a nut job.”
That could have been what Betty had witnessed, except she'd thought he'd hurt Zippy. ”Was that all they argued about?”
”Heck no. What do all married couples argue about?” He rubbed his thumb against his sausage fingers. ”Money. His therapy sucked up all their funds. Can you believe it?” An evil laugh rumbled up from deep inside him, causing Pickles to bark.
I could. I also believed Lenny knew an awful lot about a person he hated. What was that saying, ”Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer?”
I added Lenny to my suspect list.
Chapter Fourteen.
AFTER I LEFT LENNY and Pickles, I dashed toward the veterinarian tent to talk to Daniel who, according to Gia, might know where I could find the girl with the dachshund tattoo, aka Stephanie, the mysterious filmmaker. I found it rather suspect so many others, except for me, had talked to her. Plus, I suddenly had a number of questions to ask my favorite vet about depressed dogs.
The tent, which was really a portable clinic, was nestled in between the Doxie Lovers of OC and The Pet Palace-the finest five-star doghouses money could buy. The clinic's doors were propped open, which I took as an invitation to enter.
Amazing. It was a fully functioning clinic stocked with general supplies and all the necessary equipment-including an x-ray machine-to care for a sick or injured animal.
I found Daniel crouched in front of a rolling cabinet at the back of the tent.
”Knock, knock,” I called out lightly, not wanting to startle him.
He stood and brushed off his khakis. His welcoming smile spread to his warm brown eyes when he realized it was me. ”Hi, Mel. Come on in.”
Daniel was ripe with boyish charm and sharp intellect. Somehow he'd dodged the broken-down-hockey-player look after he'd busted his nose three years ago in a freak surfing accident.
”Hey, Daniel. How are you?”
”I'm good. How about yourself? How's Missy's new toothbrush working out?”
I grimaced. ”She hates it. To be honest, so do I. The triple headed brush is difficult to get into her mouth. I'm going back to the regular toothbrush I had.”
”Whatever works. Dental care is equally important for canines as for us humans. Although, I'm sure you didn't stop by for a lecture about dental care. What can I do for you?”
”Do you have time for a couple of questions?”
”Sure. Have a seat.” He pointed at three plastic chairs that looked uncomfortable and not conducive to long-term sitting.
I glanced around for another option, but unless I was willing to sit on an exam table, an unforgiving chair was it. ”Trying to keep the line short, huh?”
He chuckled. ”Definitely not the most comfortable, are they?”
We dragged a couple of chairs to face each other, the metal legs chewing up the gra.s.s then spitting up dirt. I dropped my backpack on the ground and sat.
He rolled the sleeves of his gingham-checked blue sport s.h.i.+rt to mid-forearm. ”So, what's going on?”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. ”I was curious; how would you treat a depressed dog?”
His eyebrows knitted in concern. ”Are you worried about Missy?”
”No. I was talking to Lenny Santucci a few minutes ago. His dog Pickles is racing today. He was telling me how depressed Pickles has been lately.”
He nodded. ”Pickles could be picking up on Lenny's anxiety.”
That was a definite possibility. From what I had seen, Lenny was not only high-strung but he also had a lot to be anxious about. ”Do you medicate for that? Or, you know, do dogs go to therapy?”
Daniel smiled knowingly. ”Caro could talk to you about therapy.”
I leaned back in my chair and rolled my eyes. He knew my cousin and I weren't on speaking terms. He'd heard both sides of our whole muddled history. As a true friend to both of us, he refused to pick a side. ”I see you haven't lost your sense of humor.”
Daniel popped up. ”I have something for you.” He walked across the tent to the rolling cabinet and dug through the top drawer. He pulled out a pamphlet and brought it over to me. Behavioral Medications for Your Dog. The front page was a photo of an adorable Corgi barking at his owner.
”Treatment depends on the animal. It doesn't have to be one or the other. They can be medicated and attend therapy. Either one can be costly. Without insurance, the medication can cost as much as seventy dollars a month.”
I flipped through the brochure. ”If Pickles was on antidepressants, would he have an unfair advantage?”
He shot me a half smile. ”Pickles might experience an increased heart rate, but an antidepressant could actually slow him down.”
Could Pickles be on medication, and that's why he continued to lose? I tapped the pamphlet, debating what I should do next. Lenny didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd appreciate unsolicited help. I shoved the information in my backpack.
Daniel checked his watch. ”The race starts in about ninety minutes. Did I answer all your questions?”
I grabbed my backpack and stood. I needed to make this fast; I still had to set up the booth. ”I ran into Judd Malone yesterday and he mentioned you examined Zippy. How was he?”
He raised an eyebrow in amused skepticism. ”You just happened to run into a homicide detective?”
I grinned. ”Well, you know.”
He leaned against the exam table. ”No, I don't know. I'm not sure I want to. But to answer your question, yes, I examined Zippy Eriksen. Other than acting a little skittish after being handled by a couple of strangers, he seemed fine.”
I wasn't a specialist, but in my humble opinion, I also thought he seemed fine when he was at the boutique this morning. ”So you cleared him to race today?”
He shrugged. ”Why wouldn't I?”
”Even after all the doping rumors?”
He blinked in surprised. ”What have you heard?”
”Mostly Lenny spouting off about the Eriksens juicing their dog. But it was Gia's reaction that got me curious. If she has nothing to hide, why not volunteer Zippy for a urine test?”
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